


Recursive Mirrors

by 234am



Series: If the Light Takes Us [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Monster Boyfriends, OC NPCs (for flavor), Post-Canon, Transformation, made up backstories, optional smut in separate chapters with warnings, slow build plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 125,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/234am/pseuds/234am
Summary: The consequences of Vincent choosing to live life to the fullest as Cid's husband-to-be. Nothing can ever be so easy, can it?





	1. mummified my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates twice a month, on (US) Saturdays, barring technical difficulties or major holidays.

On a bleak, pitch-dark night, Vincent stood on the crest of a jagged cliff, overlooking the sprawling, twinkling lights of a town. Once, towering iron struts stood at its back, eternally clawing at the sky. Now, the town looked like any other, but in the absence of the potential for the whole rotten thing collapsing in on itself and taking innocent lives with it, Vincent nurtured a private fondness for the place.

Down there, _home_ awaited him. Not only in the form of land and a building containing his belongings, but in the powerful beat of a heart he'd been away from for too long.

The WRO asked for him, and had there been anyone else available _and_ capable of the job, Vincent would have turned it down. It was only supposed to last a couple weeks at most. But as the days dragged by, the mission growing more and more complicated, Vincent resigned himself to only crossing paths with his better half once in awhile. Cid had a job of his own, one that sent him all over the world, chasing after long term plans to protect the planet. Vincent envied Cid the ability to create new things; all _he_ was capable of was the destruction of old, corrupt things. Blood and death and murders in the dark, as befitted a former Turk, a sinner, and a monster.

Vincent crouched, then flung himself into the air and became immaterial. His cloak flowed around him like a living thing, holding all his scattered parts together beneath one crimson banner. He soared the last few miles to the penned-in acres he shared with Cid.

The house sat at the very back, hidden behind trees and hedges and an extra layer of high privacy fences. Vincent landed on his tiptoes a few feet from the door. Home, home, home, his heart seemed to say with each thudding beat. He half expected Cid to burst out the front door, yelling for him to quiet down all the thumping.

The lights were out. Vincent's brows lowered as he tucked his face into his cloak's mantle. Even late in the night, Cid left at least the bathroom lights on. He could distantly hear the fridge running, a certain sign that the power had not gone out. No sign of Cid's truck anywhere. It wouldn't be in the garage, where Vincent's MP Bandera and the old roadster, still a work in progress, were sheltered.

Then-- Cid was not home.

His thoughts sank like stones, leaving him feeling bereft and empty. Vincent stood quite still, gaze unfocusing until it seemed there was not one door, but three, each more unreal than the last. He forgot to breathe until his chest lurched with pain and his heart trembled. Then he sucked down a ragged breath full of cool night air, almost choked on it, and spun away from the house. His cloak swirled around him, already beginning to lose substance in preparation for leaving.

The lights were on in the workshop. Vincent blinked and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. His cloak fell heavily against his back, solid again. Then came the fire, crawling up the back of his throat and burning worse than acid, because the workshop doors were _ajar_. Cid never, ever left them ajar, not at night. The instincts of the beast prickled at Vincent, urging him to rush in to defend their territory.

He stalked to the workshop, making not a sound despite his boots and all the leather that should creak. He slid half out of reality, poised to become a living shadow that blurred past his enemies.

The inside of the workshop was a disaster. Worktables flipped over, machinery ripped to pieces, the contents of toolboxes strewn about. The windows on the right were shattered from an entire plane engine flung through it.

Long, jagged claw marks scraped across the floors and walls. It was a trail leading to the back rooms.

Vincent stood in the middle of the wreckage. Shame sucker punched him for one blinding moment. He could not remember whether he had run amok again, destroying that which did not belong to him in a fit of bestial rage.

The smell of tea and nicotine cut through his inertia. Vincent blinked, inhaling more deeply. Alongside the two favored vices, he smelled motor oil and musk and bacon and root beer. Cid.

And something else, sharp and heady and _other_. It made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up, made him growl lowly behind teeth already beginning to sharpen against his will. Vincent shook his head sharply, trying to shake off the instincts, but he could not deny that he smelled something inhuman. Something like him.

With growing trepidation, he followed the claw-marked trail. The back room was in worse state, spattered with blood. Vincent knelt to pick up what looked like a fragment of skin, but found it to be a tattered piece of denim, totally soaked through with blood. He dropped it and eyed similar pieces scattered about.

The back rooms once consisted of an insulated study, where Cid kept his growing library of reference materials and his computer in easy reach while he worked on various schematics, and a secure storage room for the more valuable parts and materials. The computer would never work again, some of the furniture was ruined, and the carpet was stained beyond redemption, but the important part remained salvageable: Cid would not have to replace many books.

The storage room, however, had its door torn entirely off its hinges, and the inside was a mess. The monster that came careening through had smashed the ugly yet devastatingly comfortable plaid couch in the study and dragged its pieces into the storage room to make a nest behind a barrier of destroyed machinery.

Vincent stepped inside but remained by the door. Eyes like ice watched him from within the heap of plaid. A low, warning rumble told him not to make any sudden movements.

Still, he could not help but whisper: "Cid?"

A weak flicker of blue light and another growl were his answers. Vincent supposed he should take heart that Cid had not yet figured out how to breathe fire, but all he could think was that he'd done this.

It always went back to the mansion, its rooms not yet gone cold. Always back to his shameful weakness. Always back to not being able to talk sense into Lucrecia, to put a stop to the next thirty-odd years of corruption filtering into the lifestream. Now he and Lucrecia were the last remaining sources of that corruption, waiting to spill over into new vessels.

He had tainted Cid, forever damning him to the life of being a creature from hell. That the alternative was an eternity of loneliness did not justify his actions. He _deserved_ to suffer. His penance did not end during Meteorfall, did not end during Deepground crisis, did not end during the Luz Vuelve uprising. It would never end.

Vincent took a step forward, letting his boot heel clack on the cement floor. The noise brought the creature out of the safe darkness of its nest and into the light.

Cid was... magnificent.

Like Galian Beast, Cid's new form was a bipedal monster that could crawl on all fours with ease. Though lacking fur or hair, its silvery skin was covered in dark blue-grey square scaling not unlike a crocodile’s. Along the spine, twin ridges ran all the way from the forehead to the tip of the tail, where they converged into a trio of sharp spikes. The snout was short, with reptilian nostrils and forward-facing eyes that blazed like lich fire even under the fluorescent lights. The horns that jutted forward at either side of his skull were ridged and branched, as though scales tried to become antlers.

And, of course, when Cid opened his mouth, he revealed double rows of teeth designed for rending and tearing. He _hissed_ , flicking his forked tongue.

"Come back to me, Chief."

Nothing could ever be so simple.

Cid lowered his head and charged, claws sparking off the concrete. Unlike Galian Beast, he never made a sound to announce his attack. If not for Vincent's ability to become incorporeal, he might have been gored then and there. He spun gracefully to the side, cloak whirling and snapping. The monster went barreling out of the storage room and skidded to a stop in the middle of the study. Vincent followed and drew his gun.

Though Cid's will ran strong, it was not strong enough to overcome the haze of fury and confusion that came with the first transformation. Vincent couldn't recall much of his own first, but when the bloodlust abated, he'd been trapped in the monster's form for hours after, unable to change back because he didn't know _how_.

 _"What **is** it,"_ he heard Lucrecia's voice, risen with alarm, as real as the day she'd said that.

Hojo's laughter, grating like glass splintering. _"Why... don't you recognize your dear guard dog?"_

Then her screaming and wailing, which only served to set the beast off again because he needed to get out, needed to kill that which hurt her, needed--

Vincent blinked and sidestepped another charge, cursing his inability to stay focused on the present. The monster hissed. It swung its tail as it raced by and caught him solidly in the side. He grunted, not quite staggering.

The agony of ribs snapping meant little in comparison to teeth coming at him. Vincent brought his metal arm up. The monster bit down with too much force, bending the brassy gold but not breaking it. Blood spurted from Cid's mouth; he recoiled and pawed at his snout as he spit out teeth.

Guilt and shame were a constant. Vincent barely batted a lid, watching the blood run down Cid’s chin, dripping onto the concrete. The coppery smell made his mouth water. He hungered to spill more even as he blanched at the thought because it was _Cid_ , not some beast to be gunned down, ripped to pieces, made to _hurt_.

Nothing good came of passing his corrupted cells on, but perhaps Cid inherited the same quirks that made it possible to recover from injuries inflicted to the beast. And, with any luck, his transformations would be the same. If so, in order to transform back, Cid would need to run off all the excess energy. Then he might revert naturally, and if he were lucid when it did, he might discover the trick to transforming on his own.

Thus, when Cid made to retreat to the storage room, Vincent blurred through the air to cut him off. His skinny body was hardly a deterrent to a bulky monster. He raised his gun and fired, missing on purpose, but only by a scant fraction of an inch. Cid jerked back with a snarl, blue light flickering in the back of his throat. Vincent fired again, disrupting any attempt at fire-breathing.

With each gunshot, Cid backed off. With each gunshot, Vincent stepped forward. He was utterly destroying what remained of the floor, tearing up chunks of concrete and leaving bullets embedded in a haphazard pattern.

In the small confines of the study, the monster retreated exactly where Vincent wanted him to go, but as soon as they reached the wider space of the workshop, Cid darted to the side. The monster's instincts left Cid with enough intelligence to duck behind the leaning wreckage of a plane half-built, preventing Vincent from getting a clear shot. Vincent twirled his gun and stayed by the door to the study, unwilling to leave any opening.

Something large crashed through the window. Vincent went still, holding his breath as he listened closely. After the last shards of glass fell, he heard nothing else, inside or out. The chances of Cid escaping the property were slim. The outer perimeter consisted of electric fences, barbed wire, and concrete topped with spikes, none of it enough to deter Galian Beast but sufficient enough to buy time for capture.

Vincent hesitated only a moment before rounding the plane. He made a quick sweep with his gun held straight out, left then right, but his target was nowhere to be found.

He stepped over to the window. In the pool of light that spilled out, he spotted a battered toolbox. Behind him came the scrape of claws on stone. Vincent spun towards the noise, but saw nothing at first.

A shadow from above. Vincent looked up, eyes widening a fraction.

Perhaps he should have expected that Cid's monster would be far more intelligent than his own. The man was too clever by far, and was never above fighting dirty. To lure prey in with a distraction, _climb up the wall_ , and--

Vincent's finger twitched against the trigger as the monster dropped on him. At the last second, he jerked his arm aside; the bullets flew wild, ricocheting off the wall and taking out one of the lights.

Cid slammed into him, pinning him to the floor. He let go of his gun, throwing his hands up to catch the jaws snapping just shy of his throat. They strained against one another. The monster's jaw muscles flexed but he was unable to _bite_. Cid snarled, twisting and thrashing, but their strength was evenly matched.

Getting his legs up under Cid's middle, Vincent kicked hard and flung him off. The next moment, he was up, letting his own transformation take him. Dark energy whipped around his limbs, ripping through his flesh and bones. Sheer agony burned through his core, radiating out along every thread of his nervous system. His pained exhalation became a roar.

Meanwhile, Cid rolled to his feet and shied back, wary. His head swayed side to side, tongue flicking out. He did not retreat far.

The energy dispersed in one last outward burst of wind. Galian Beast dropped to all fours, then stalked forward, exhaling smoke from his snout. Beneath the layers of bestial instinct telling him to rend tear _kill_ , Vincent kept his thoughts to a narrowed point of focus. He thought of Cid's face, his gruff voice, his warmth, and the beat of his heart, always steady.

Most of all, he thought of _home,_ trapped inside a scaled hide.

The two monsters circled, sizing one another up. They backed around the plane, shoved aside work tables and shelves, kicked scattered debris out of the way. Vincent put himself between Cid and the back rooms when they stopped moving.

That seemed to frustrate Cid. He lunged, snapping at the air, but stayed well out of reach. When Vincent took a step forward, Cid backed away with a low hiss.

Interesting that he seemed hesitant to initiate anything else. Finding it too difficult to think clearly, Vincent could not wonder over it long. He let instinct lead him, pressing the advantage to herd Cid out of the workshop.

As they neared the open doorway, Cid tried rushing to the sides to get around Vincent. He was having none of it. Vincent twisted and raced up into Cid's space every time, letting loose clouds of smoke and a flash of fire to drive him back.

With darkness at his back, Cid finally snarled and threw himself at Vincent, claws and teeth first. Ducking, Vincent thrust his head forward, catching Cid's head between his horns. The sharp curve of the tips fit neatly along Cid's jawline. No matter which way Cid twisted, he couldn't get loose easily.

Vincent bore the claws digging into his shoulders and upper arms, felt the rush of hot blood staining his fur. It didn't matter. He had the advantage. Vincent shoved forward to latch onto Cid's neck. He sank his teeth into soft scales and gave a warning shake.

Cid thrashed twice more, in one last desperate bid to break free. He hissed and snarled and choked. At the slow build of fire against his pulse, he went limp.

Triumphant, Vincent bore him down to the ground, not yet letting go. He held Cid there, breathing raggedly, until the sickening miasma of destructive urges eased. Then he gingerly relaxed his jaw, pulling his teeth free of bloodied flesh. Cid still didn't move, watching out of the corner of his eyes. Vincent met that blue-eyed gaze as he lapped at the bite mark.

Slit pupils dilated until no blue remained. Cid exhaled long and slow, and then made a groaning half-whine noise, shuddering. He scrambled up and away, out of the light, his movements clumsy. He no longer seemed to know what to do with his feet, and tripped over his tail, going down with a yelp.

"Shid," Vincent rumbled, following at a distance.

Cid snapped his head up, staring, and gave another shudder, curling in on himself. He didn't move when Vincent came over to nose at his shoulder.

Shock and lucidity, then.

Vincent let the beast's form slough away beneath the vortex of shadowy energy. He slumped over Cid, hands splayed against the scaled, muscled back. The world seemed to wobble back and forth, his vision an unfocused haze. He blinked through it, lifting his head.

"Still with me, Chief?"

Cid grunted. He stretched his front limbs out, flexing claws, and dragged them through the dirt. Then he gave another grunt, this time with the flicker of blue behind teeth.

"We were so wrong..." Vincent sighed, rubbing his thumb in the gaps between scales along Cid's spine. "Nothing I can say will make this right."

Falling silent, Cid pulled away. That hurt, but Vincent deserved it and more. He sat up, tucking his legs beneath him, and watched as Cid stood on wobbly legs, inspecting himself. Claws clattered along scales and spines as Cid ran his paws along his limbs. He seemed especially fascinated with his tail, holding it between both claws and lifting it this way and that.

When his self-examination was finished, Cid eyed Vincent up and down. Vincent did not expect Cid to crowd close, nor was he fully prepared for a warm nose nudging at his temple. He blinked up at Cid, the corner of his mouth quirking. Anxious and uncertain, he lifted his hand, offering it. Cid snuffled obligingly, then rubbed against it, eyes half-mast.

"I'm sorry. I've made you into a monster..."

Cid huffed, bumping his nose more insistently against Vincent's hand. Always with the blasé denials, even when he couldn't speak. Vincent's heart swelled as he dug his fingers into a soft spot that made Cid rumble with pleasure.

"If... you'll still have me, then I will do anything for you. I won't leave you to suffer this alone."

With a pointed growl that Vincent thought probably meant something like, _"Don't be stupid,"_ Cid curled around him. He settled his head into Vincent's lap, eyes closed.

"My beloved fiend," Vincent breathed out, resting his forehead against the ridged brow. "If I am gallant, then you are silent and patient."

Cid snorted, expelling a charming amount of clear snot onto Vincent's mantle.

“Ugh. Thanks, Highwind.”


	2. nothing wrong with me

As pleasant as it was to have Cid back in his right mind, there was no guarantee it would last. He possessed an abundance of energy and kept shifting around, but refused to move out of Vincent's lap. After getting poked one too many times in the rib by horns, each nudge more painful than the last, Vincent pushed him away. He kept the palm of his gauntlet firmly planted against Cid's nose to hold him at bay.

"You'll need to run yourself out so you can change back."

Cid huffed, flicking his tongue out to lick at the metal hand as if Vincent might feel it. Then he walked away a few steps, testing his balance, which was as wobbly as a newborn deer. How cruelly funny that their monstrous forms knew on instinct how to move and kill with ease, but the minute their human minds assumed control, they became pathetically helpless.

"Don't go far."

Vincent stood and went into the workshop. His ribs ached with every step, like being stabbed just under his lung. Breathing deeply was a chore he abstained from, taking short, shallow breaths and ignoring his body’s protests.

He picked his way through the wreckage to retrieve his gun. With its reassuring weight returned to its holster, his thoughts cleared, a sense of calm rightness settling over him. While he was inside, he made sure to shut off the lights and close the study door, the only one that remained functional inside.

By the time Vincent came back out and shut the outer doors, Cid had more or less mastered walking on all fours. He rocked up onto his back legs, but couldn't quite manage to take a step without falling back down to four again.

"Use your tail for balance."

Cid swiped said tail across the ground, leaving fan-shaped gouges in the dirt. Then he lifted it, dropped it, and lifted again. Vincent shook his head slightly, bemused, but chose not to comment.

His own explorations of alternate forms had not been quite so pleasant; he'd learned everything the hard way, with no room for idle playfulness. Cid's ability to regain lucidity so quickly was a marvel that Lucrecia was sure to have theories about.

"Lucrecia."

Cid peered over, tipping his head to one side.

Vincent glanced down at his boots, willing the tangled weave of his thoughts to become words that made sense. "We'll need to see her, when you've reverted."

With a stiff nod of his head, Cid paced around in a circle. He kept his gaze on Vincent as he motioned with one paw in a kind of _"Come on"_ gesture. Tail up, head tilted again, front legs beginning to bend. He play bowed, and probably didn't even realize it.

Vincent snorted softly. "Like dogs much?"

Comically, Cid arched his neck around to peer at himself. As he stood up, he made a coughing half-bark sort of noise, jaw hanging to show too many teeth in a monstrous grin. He was not at all ashamed to notice inhuman behaviors.

Cid's ability to adapt to new situations was beyond incredible. The day he'd shown up with mako in his eyes, Vincent expected to have to watch him deteriorate. Nothing of the sort happened; Cid muscled through it, grinning and swearing like usual. He shrugged off Vincent's and Lucrecia's concerns after the mako bath in the test tube, didn't even bat a lid at gaining sharp teeth and more nightmares from inheriting Vincent's cells.

And now...

Vincent hid a smile in his mantle, watching Cid bounce around him, obviously trying to get a reaction. He could imagine all too well the teasing taunts Cid would be throwing, if he could speak. Ever since they'd acquired the five acres directly behind Rocket Town, he and Cid had sparred and tested the limits of his control over Galian Beast. Cid joked that it was _"Playin' with the unruly dog"_ , not the least bit concerned that every time could become a life or death situation.

It seemed only fair that Vincent might return the favor. He waited for an opening in Cid's prancing. Then he darted by, running a finger along the length of Cid's spine, flicking at one of the tail spikes before racing off into the dark. Though he could easily outpace any monster by becoming unreal and muffle the noise he made in the process, he let his cloak flap freely and noisily behind him, a taunting banner to keep Cid's interest.

Behind him, Cid let out a rising snarl, fairly high pitched. Vincent couldn't be entirely certain, but he guessed that the noise signified play. The thud of paws followed Vincent closely as he raced across their five acres.

He gave the chocobo stables and corral a wide berth, uncertain that Cid would be able to rein in the instinct to hound after prey. He did not fear for Cid's precious She Devil's safety--she'd gotten out on more than one occasion and been found lording over dead creatures of all kinds in the nearby forest. Separating them if they got into it would be a dangerous, if not an outright foolish, endeavor that would end in tragedy.

Vincent made one loop around the entire perimeter. By then, Cid became more confident in his movements and managed to close the distance between them, playfully snapping at the cape. Vincent veered a sharp left, slipping between the narrow gap between two tree trunks. On the other side, he jumped over a boulder, sailing clear over the little pond full of koi to land in his garden.

Cid came scrambling up the boulder, skidding to a stop just in time to avoid tumbling head first over the edge. He peered down at the pond, tail twitching, and then climbed back down to circle around. This carefulness extended to the garden gate, too, using his horn to nudge the latch up before trotting in, staying to the paths.

It was an impressive display of control.

Vincent waited for Cid on the wooden bench in the middle, his heart swollen with warmth and pride. He had a little difficulty breathing as he rubbed his hand against Cid's shoulder, not entirely because of his ribs.

“You make this seem effortless,” Vincent made himself say, even though the words came out flat, lacking the depth of feeling and sincerity he longed to convey.

With a quiet sigh, Cid planted his paws on either side of Vincent on the bench, then settled his pointy chin against Vincent's knees. It could not have been comfortable. Vincent tucked his fingers under Cid's jaw, nudging him until he'd resettled further up against the meat of one thigh.

Vincent felt something sticky and wet on his fingertips. Lifting his hand, he was not surprised to find blood. Nor was he altogether shocked that he felt the urge to lick it away. Clearing his throat, he rubbed his fingers against his pant leg.

"Let me see your neck."

Cid obliged with some reluctance, tipping his head up and back. The bite marks had mostly caked over, the shallower ones already beginning to close up. The largest hole continued to ooze, smearing blood down Cid's front and staining Vincent's already filthy pants.

"Ah." Vincent ran his thumb against the tender skin near the wound. "I have Cure."

It was an offer made without expectation. Given time, the combination of mako and what Lucrecia referred to as V Cells would eventually heal Cid of almost any wound. In fact, if Vincent's experiences were at all applicable, even becoming little more than a breathing corpse, replete with maggots, would not be enough to end his life. Thanks to Galian Beast's immunity to fire, he couldn't even be turned to ash.

Still, when Cid wiggled closer, continuing to offer up his neck, Vincent felt an odd sense of relief. He palmed the grip of his gun, not bothering to draw it, and cast Cure over them both, finally letting go of the needle sharp pain of broken ribs. The shimmering green light sank over them, heavy and cold. Cid's head sank with it, settling back in Vincent's lap.

"Tired, Chief?"

"Nuh," Cid grunted.

"Alright."

Although it was still necessary to help Cid run the monster out, Vincent didn't immediately get up. He rested his hand against the top of Cid's head and gazed towards the koi pond. The fish weren't visible in the dark, endlessly rippling water this late at night.

The day Cid surprised him with the garden and pond, Vincent recalled dropping onto the bench in silent awe while Cid stood nearby, his cocky surety becoming faintly nervous the longer Vincent failed to say anything. He _had_ eventually managed to convey at least some of his gratitude, once it no longer seemed like all the air had left the atmosphere. The nervous edge to Cid’s smile had been wiped away, at any rate.

The garden sat behind the house, so that the windows of the kitchen and bedrooms overlooked it. Almost everything in it was self-sufficient except for the tilled beds behind the bench. Those remained open for shorter lived plants, at Vincent’s leisure. Both he and Cid were away from home for such long stretches that keeping anything that couldn't be left unattended was an exercise in futility. But Cid found a way to make it work for them, doing extensive research into hardier plants and hiring landscapers to help him install it.

In the face of so many magnificent gifts, Vincent felt small and unworthy and yet so impossibly cherished. He thought it unfair that his only returns were small, mundane things he hardly deserved praise for. Like ensuring Cid replaced clothes worn to rags or attempting to help with the cooking and household chores. And now... he inflicted the awful curse of his cells on Cid in a mockery of gratitude.

He bent to rest his forehead against Cid's, eyes closed against the rising tide of self-loathing. His lungs tightened, breathing going uneven. Bile bubbled in the back of his throat. With trembling fingers, he cupped the side of Cid's face, as though to ground himself. He longed for the reassurance of a pulse, but unfamiliarity with Cid’s changed anatomy and startle reflexes kept him from seeking it out.

Cid inhaled, soft and slow, and then flicked his tongue out, tickling underneath Vincent's chin. The distraction helped somewhat; Vincent's shoulders shook with surprise and barely contained amusement as he jerked back. Cid, of course, followed, chasing for more sloppy dog-like kisses.

"Ugh, Highwind--" Vincent grabbed at the tongue when next it came at him. It was slippery and wiggly, sliding out of his grasp easily.

Cid made a sound that resembled snorting, wheezing snickers. Then, with the utmost gentleness, he nuzzled his nose against Vincent's slobbery hand, eyes sliding shut.

He could not speak, yet his meaning was clear. All the air went out of Vincent's lungs in a quiet rush, awe and affection renewed. His usual methods of conveying how much he loved Cid didn't seem appropriate right then, if only because Cid could not properly consent, and not because Vincent found his form unappealing. He'd never considered doing anything as Galian Beast except with revulsion, but it seemed perfectly natural to think of Cid as attractive, whatever his shape. Perhaps Vincent had been a monster for too long and even his basest desires were warped.

He cut those thoughts short before they could meander and circle back in on themselves. Before he could begin to find reason to loathe himself for them.

"...Come on, Chief." Vincent stood, brushing his cloak aside with a little flare. "We should get a move on."

Cid backed away, then trotted politely back down the path, out of the garden where he waited on the other side of the gate until Vincent joined him, latching the gate behind them. Then the great big monster went bounding off, pausing only to look back at Vincent once. Vincent gave chase.

They rounded the house, racing across the property. Cid did not avoid the chocobo corral but ran along the length of the fence to go around the stables. Inside, the She Devil gave a hard kick to her stall. Locks rattled, but presumably held, as she didn't come barreling out. At the noise, Cid skidded to a stop, head up, craning towards one of the barred windows.

"Don't," Vincent advised, pushing at Cid's haunches. "You'll regret it if something happens to her."

With a huff and a light nip at Vincent's sleeves, voicing his displeasure, Cid moved on, slow and reluctant at first, then picking up speed. Soon he galloped full tilt, careening along the perimeter with obvious glee. It took everything Vincent had to keep up, sometimes becoming immaterial to cut corners.

Always, Vincent tried to brush his fingers against scaled hide, avoiding the wildly swinging tail or the dirt and grass flung up in Cid's wake. Cid picked up on the game quickly, ducking and rolling out of reach at the last second, letting out those wheezy snorts of laughter every time he succeeded.

Back and forth, all over the property, all through the night, they chased one another, until even Vincent's nearly endless reserves of energy were spent. He doubled over his knees, panting harshly, his sweat-soaked hair hanging in his face.

Cid paced around him, jaw hanging open. With every ragged breath, he expelled the smell of ozone and an odd, low crackling noise. Vincent lifted his head, peering between long locks of hair. Blue light flickered in the back of Cid's throat.

"Cid," Vincent said, causing the monster to stop in his tracks. "Try to whistle."

With evident confusion, Cid tilted his head until it was practically upside down. Then he righted himself, tucking his chin against his chest. He possessed lips utterly unlike a human's, and the conundrum of how to overcome that seemed to stump him for several long moments.

Vincent moved away from Cid's front as the monster made a low coughing noise. Cid peeled his lips back, revealing the wickedly sharp, jagged teeth, slightly parted. Cid pressed the thickest part of his tongue against the back of them, twisting it to form a sort of funnel. Then he blew, sharply, and made a loud whistling sound.

That wasn't all, however. The blue light flared up, arching out in zigs and zags, blindingly bright. It zapped forward, striking a nearby tree trunk so fast that Vincent was sure if he'd blinked at the right moment, he might have missed it entirely.

The noise that followed was a deafening, explosive roar. Thunder.

Cid recoiled, shaking his head sharply, tongue lolling and limp, dripping blood. He'd bitten it in his shock.

Meanwhile, Vincent rubbed the heel of his hand against his ear, which rang with a discordant high-pitched sound. The gesture did nothing to alleviate his discomfort.

"Ah."

"Fuh nuh!" Cid sputtered.

"Afraid so, Chief," Vincent murmured, thoughtful.

Not fire, then. That was interesting, but unsurprising. Galian Beast was a creature from the depths of hell, and thus not even hellfire could harm it. Cid, on the other hand, had always been a man of the sky. He chased storms for fun. It seemed only fitting that his monster form favored lightning.

Vincent wondered if that meant Cid hadn't inherited his immunity to fire. A troubling thought, but perhaps not a total loss if Vincent would never need to fear his favorite adrenaline junkie being struck down by lightning.

Cid paced away, tail lashing uneasily. He rumbled low in his throat, expressing malcontent with rising volume. Then he made another coughing noise before trying to spit another lightning bolt. The second time was no less impressive than the first, though Cid managed not to startle now that he was expecting it. He did it a few more times, sometimes sending sparks wide from his intended target, the smoking stump.

Rather than try to interfere, Vincent backed further off, tucking his chin and gritting his teeth. The noise made the tinnitus worse, but he had no earplugs, and certainly didn't intend to gouge his eardrums out for temporary, if bloody, relief. Cid would be upset with him if he did.

Getting used to his breath weapon seemed to use up a great deal of energy. Cid hunkered down, head on his paws. He closed his eyes, wheezing like the trains he so hated. At Vincent's approach, he gave a weak tail thump, only half opening one eye.

"Feel better?"

A grunt that could be interpreted as anything was his answer. Vincent's eyelids fluttered shut, eyes rolling beneath them. Either Cid was too tired for clearer communication or he was being difficult _because_ he was tired.

Whatever the case, Cid gave a full body shudder. Wind whipped up around him, a swirl of dark blue energy streaked with the green of lifestream pouring from the ground. Vincent stepped back to give room for the transformation, watching without blinking as Cid was forcibly ripped apart and remade.

"Welcome back, Chief," he whispered when it finished.

" _Fugck_." Cid curled in on himself, clutching at his head.

Not a shred of decency remained to him; the uncontrolled transformation had destroyed his clothes. From the look of things, it'd even broken the pink ribbon and dog tags. Vincent hoped the tags themselves were somewhere in the workshop, otherwise they'd need to dig up the replacements.

Silent, Vincent knelt by Cid and waited. Cid eventually turned his face towards Vincent, blue eyes a dim glow hazed over by pain and exhaustion. Vincent took that as his cue to gather Cid up in his arms as gently as possible to carry him inside. Cid’s head lolled against Vincent’s shoulder; he laid limp, lacking even the strength to throw his arm around Vincent’s neck. Every step made his breathing hitch, though Vincent couldn't tell if it was from pain or nausea or both.

They both needed a bath, but neither were in any shape for that much effort. Vincent took them straight up to Cid's room, not bothering with any of the lights. He deposited Cid on the bed, pulling the covers up over him, then stripped down to shirt and pants to join him.

Sleep like death gave him a respite from reality.


	3. kids are all wrong

The morning brought too much sunlight slanting through the windows and his warm pillow kept wiggling around. Vincent made a quiet sound of protest, burrowing his face against Cid's side, but their combined smell wasn't pleasant enough to stick around for long. Hating himself for not being able to go back to _sleep_ , Vincent sat up, dragging the blankets with him.

"Oi, you're such an asshole, Valentine," Cid grumbled, voice thick with sleep. He made a grab at the blankets, tugging weakly.

"You stink, Highwind."

Laughing, Cid threw his arm over his eyes, sheltering in the crook of his elbow. "So damn cruel."

"Bath now."

"Ugh."

Neither of them moved for several long minutes. Vincent hunched with his hair in his eyes, trying and largely failing to work up the will to move. Cid just laid there, bared to the cool morning air, his breathing gone even and soft again.

But when Vincent poked him in the side, he rolled out of bed with minimal grumbling. "Fuck, it's cold," Cid said, when his bare feet hit the wooden floor. "Fuck, I hate this."

He ambled out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom, not even bothering with necessities like clothes. Vincent watched him go, sighing, and then resigned himself to collecting clean clothes for the both of them.

By the time Vincent entered the bathroom, Cid had the shower going. He set their clothes on the counter, made use of the toilet, and then stripped down to join Cid, bodily pushing the other man aside to get under the spray of hot water.

"Guess I ain’t gettin’ clean yet," Cid said, grinning even as he moved to help Vincent scrub up.

Vincent just hummed, leaning against Cid lazily and letting him do all the work. He still hadn't really woken up. His thoughts were foggy and distant, not quite lining up like they should. He needed to do something important now that they were both awake and Cid was human again, but the memory eluded him. Perhaps it would come to him later. With coffee.

"Breakfast?" Vincent asked, cracking one eye open.

"Yeah, yeah. Turn around."

Bracing his gauntlet against the wall, Vincent presented his back to Cid. He dragged his hair up over one shoulder, getting it out of the way. Cid worked the soapy rag over back muscles, lingering to rub away knots of tension. He meandered downwards, giving as much attention to the backs of Vincent's thighs and calves.

Vincent felt loose and boneless and a little more awake by the time Cid passed the rag and soap over. He was all too happy to swap places with Cid, holding the rag under the flow of water, then working up a good lather with the soap. As he began to wash Cid, his attention lingered on the bruised ring of pink, tender flesh on Cid's neck.

"What's up?"

"Ah... You look like you were mauled."

"Huh." Cid put his finger tips against his neck and hissed. " _Damn,_ that smarts!"

"Does your tongue hurt?" Vincent ran the rag down Cid's side, scrubbing away grime, and did not look at the other man's mouth, focusing instead on his task.

"No, why?"

"Hm. You should take a potion."

"Sure. The hell did we get up to last night, starshine?"

With a blink, Vincent flicked his eyes up, meeting Cid's gaze. "You don't remember?" His fingers trembled a little, his grip on the rag going a little slack.

Shame crept up the back of his neck, crawling like insects, and it took him a moment to place it. He’d _enjoyed_ himself last night, had fond memories Cid did not. Memories that weren't rightfully his alone.

"Nah-uh. Don't seem like we got pissed, so what the fuck?"

Vincent searched Cid's face, lips thinned out. Not remembering the details of his behavior while transformed was not unusual, but disappointing. He opened his mouth to explain, but the words became snarled up, caught in the back of his throat. With a faint shake of his head, Vincent dropped his gaze, getting back to the task at hand with renewed vigor.

"Vince..."

"Time," Vincent blurted.

"Okay." Cid blew out a sigh, but made no further protest.

"Thank you."

Once they started living together, it became necessary to establish safe words not only for bedroom misadventures, but for every day interactions. Cid's temper often got the best of him, and Vincent's ability to say what he meant was dicey at best. Rather than constantly getting into stupid, petty squabbles, they'd agreed to allow for timeouts when one or both of them needed to be able to process their feelings. Or, in Vincent's case, figure out how to put those feelings into words that weren't designed to hurt.

As he urged Cid to turn around, bumping the rag against the other man's hip, Vincent sorted through his thoughts, trying to put them into some semblance of order. He began to formulate a checklist of things he needed to ask, starting with finding out what Cid _did_ remember, and how far that went.

"Rinse," Vincent instructed, tossing the rag aside.

He grabbed the shampoo and bent to scrub his hair. Cid settled his hands on either side of Vincent's head, gentle. Asking without speaking if he could do it. Vincent dropped his hand away, relinquishing the task.

Later, with the water beginning to go cold, they toweled each other off, then proceeded to get in one another's way at the sink. Cid smiled around his toothbrush, not quite meeting Vincent's eyes out of wary caution, but not too moody all the same. Vincent touched his elbow, waited until Cid turned towards him, then pressed a kiss to Cid's temple, mouthing words he never quite managed to voice.

"Oh," Cid croaked, smile growing big and sloppy enough to let spearmint foam drip down his chin.

"...Adorable, Highwind." Vincent flicked his finger near the mess, squinting. "Talk over breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure."

Nodding, Vincent grabbed his clothes and left, going to dress in Cid's room, where he'd left his gun, belts, boots, and cape. He didn't don that last item, but carried it under his arm on the way downstairs. It ended up draped over the back of his chair in the kitchen.

Cid came clattering down while Vincent got the coffee machine going and put the kettle on the stove. He went straight for the fridge, digging out the fixings for breakfast. Eggs, butter, bacon, milk… From the pantry, he retrieved seasonings, bread, and potatoes.

“Hey, ya seen my tags anywhere?”

“Ah… You may have left them in the workshop.”

“Huh. Weird.” Cid frowned, blinking distantly into a mixing bowl as he cracked eggs into it. “Ya want eggy bread?”

“That’s fine.”

Leaning against the counter near the coffee maker, Vincent watched Cid prep the food with practiced ease. His thoughts meandered away from the mundane, domestic scene, mulling over not only what he needed to say but the niggling thing he needed to _do_ but couldn’t remember.

His phone vibrating in his pocket provided the answer. Vincent pulled it out, staring at Lucrecia’s name on the screen. Realization that he needed to talk to her slotted into place, slowing his thoughts to a snail’s pace. As he followed the logical progression from needing to talk to her to the _why_ , the phone continued to buzz through three more rings before the screen went dark again.

“Ain’t answerin’?” Cid asked, putting a frying pan on the burner to melt butter.

Vincent blinked. “Oh.”

She called back a minute later, likely used to his phone-related ineptitude. This time, he remembered to tap the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Lucrecia.”

“Hello, Vincent! Are you home yet?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good! Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

Vincent pulled the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder. He tilted his head, eyeing Cid with a raised brow. Waited until the clatter of raw potato being dumped into the pan quieted to ask, “Dinner at Shera’s?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, that’s fine,” Cid answered, stirring the potatoes around to get them evenly distributed.

Nodding, Vincent set the phone back against his ear. “Alright.”

“Great! Come by around six. Listen, I’ve got to go--”

“Lucrecia.”

“Yes, Vincent?”

“Ah… There’s been a complication.”

Silence, but for a sharp inhale. Then, her voice dropped low and tentative, she asked, “What… _kind_ of complication?”

“Do we have an appointment?”

Cid glanced over, curiosity evident; his brows went up, scrunched together, and he mouthed, _”What’s wrong?”_ Vincent just shook his head and turned away, pacing out of the kitchen.

“Oh, um… not until next month…”

“Unacceptable.”

“Vincent, what’s going on?”

“Can you see us today?”

“ _Vincent_.”

“I’m not the only beast anymore,” Vincent finally managed to spit out.

“Oh. Oh no. He didn’t-- are you two _okay_? Did anyone get hurt?”

“Property damage. Here. He doesn’t remember.”

“Okay.” Lucrecia went quiet again. Faintly, Vincent could hear the tap of keys beneath her breathing. “Okay, um, it doesn’t look like I have anything urgent today. I can see you any time after eleven, if it’s not an emergency?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re in this together!”

Vincent drew in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. “For eternity.”

Then he hung up to her flustered laughter, knowing she wasn’t laughing to be cruel. She’d always reacted to embarrassment and stress like that.

He wandered back into the kitchen, setting his phone on the table. Cid glowered down at the potatoes, as though they’d personally insulted him. They sizzled quietly, but as far as Vincent could tell when he came over to peer at them, they were ordinary potatoes doing what they ought to do.

“What’s up, Vince?” Cid asked, casting a wary, sidelong look.

“How much do you remember of yesterday?”

"Ya gonna tell me what the hell's goin' on?"

"When I know where to start from." Vincent pulled the whistling kettle off the burner and busied himself with adding tea bags.

"Alright." Cid scraped his spatula up under the potatoes, beginning to flip the chunks to reveal crispy brown tops. "Let's see, uhh... Was in Cosmo Canyon for the weekend, helpin' with maintenance and shit." Tucking his tongue between his sharp left canines, Cid stopped speaking for a moment, concentrating on getting the last few straggling potatoes flipped before they burned on one side. "And... Got back early afternoon. Ya weren't home, so I went to fuck 'round in the workshop."

Though unlikely to be a terribly important detail, Vincent nonetheless asked, "What were you up to?"

"Oh, uh... Lil bit of this 'n that." Cid shrugged. "Last thing before I quit was seein' if I could convert an engine to runnin' off that new corn shit. It ain't got enough oomph to fuckin' go for long."

"Hmm. Frustrating."

"No kiddin'."

"Anything else?"

"Nah-uh. When'd ya get in?"

"Late last night."

"I wasn't asleep yet, was I?"

"No."

Cid waggled his greasy spatula in Vincent's direction with a small, crooked smile. "Well, c'mon, don't leave me fuckin' hangin'."

Instead of getting straight to the point, Vincent stepped over to the cupboards to get mugs out. "Did you dream?"

"Uhh... Yeah."

"Tell me."

"Vince..."

"Please."

Sighing, Cid rolled his head one way, then the other, cracking his neck. "It's just more of the usual shit."

Vincent did not press for more, choosing to let Cid come around to talking about it at his own pace. He poured himself some coffee and sipped at it, silently watching as Cid poured the potatoes onto a plate.

Over the sound of more butter sizzling in the pan, Cid began to elaborate. "I'm in the workshop. Somethin's wrong. Smell or... I don't fuckin' know, some _sense_ that someone that ain't s'posed to be there been 'round to mess with my shit."

He pulled the bowl of eggs over, stirring in cinnamon and milk, then began dunking slices of bread in, soaking them thoroughly. Each one went into the pan, four at a time. Cid nudged them around a bit with the spatula to keep them from sticking.

"Tore the damn place up, tryna find 'em. Then I made it better, made it mine." Cid shrugged. "Don't remember much else. Pain and blood and thunder and fucked up shit like wantin' worse."

"Last night," Vincent started.

As blue eyes turned on him, the lights in them resembling the shift of glaciers sinking into the ocean, the words trailed away. His thoughts sank like stones. He felt like drowning in Cid's eyes, freezing over despite the warm concern in them. Vincent closed his own eyes, inhaling the scent of coffee as he tried desperately to get his mind to _focus_.

The scrape of the spatula, slap of soggy bread, and the sizzling that followed helped lead Vincent back. He took another sip of coffee, gazing determinedly out the kitchen window, at his garden.

"I arrived late. The workshop doors stood ajar, lights on. No sign of you." Inhale. Exhale. Line the shot up and let the bullet loose. "You destroyed it, Cid. You were... not human."

The clatter of Cid dropping the spatula, it bouncing off the stove top, and hitting the floor made Vincent peer over the lip of his mug, hiding the lower half of his face behind ceramic in place of the cloak's mantle.

"Fuck," Cid hissed, stooping to snatch the spatula. He tossed it into the sink and got another to rescue the eggy bread from the pan before it burned. "I did fuckin' _what_?"

"You transformed and destroyed your workshop."

"Fuuuuck. Transformed into what? Galian? Some other ugly fucktruck?"

"I..." Vincent took another deep gulp of coffee. He pressed the bottom of his tongue to the backs of his teeth after, unsure he should be admitting anything.

"Vince."

"I did not find your form disagreeable."

Cid stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Vincent glanced to the side to confirm he hadn't, then met that blue eyed stare, unable to take the confession back.

"Yeah, okay, thanks for the fuckin'... fidelity or whatever. What was I?"

"I'm not certain what to call it. A crocodilian version of Galian, perhaps. Silver and blue."

"Huh."

Vincent set his coffee mug on the counter, letting his forefinger and thumb linger against the side with the other fingers fanned out. Then he released, stepping away, and folded his arms with his hands tucked under. Defensive now.

"Is that all you have to say, Highwind?"

"I'm thinkin', damn, gimme a break."

While he did his thinking, Cid cleaned the mixing bowl and pan out. He put the pan back on the fire and threw bacon into it. Soon, the pop of grease and the tantalizing smell of cooking meats filled the kitchen.

To Vincent, it smelled too like burning flesh. The beast's triumph echoed in his skull, reverberating. He blanched, ducking his head, and muttered, "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"The... fire."

Cid blinked, looking between Vincent and the stove. Then he made a soft noise of understanding and yanked the pan off the burner. With a noisy clatter, he dug out the pan's lid and covered it, reducing the smell somewhat. Next, he threw the kitchen windows open.

"C'mon, let's go have a smoke, huh?"

"Please."

They stepped out the back door, into cool fresh air and too much sunlight. Vincent hunched against Cid's back, face pressed against his shoulder. Cid produced lighter and cigarettes and lit up, head tipped back to watch fluffy clouds drift by. As if everything were perfectly ordinary. The smell of nicotine cut through the greasy meat stench, helping Vincent to feel settled again.

"How's 'bout we eat in the garden?"

"I'd like that," Vincent admitted.

"Ya want me to ditch the bacon or finish it?"

"Sorry."

"Nah, s'fine." Cid waved his hand, trailing smoke. "How ya want your eggs?"

"Scrambled is fine..."

What he meant was, _scrambled is less effort,_ because he'd already caused more than enough trouble for Cid, not just that morning, but for the other man's entire lifetime. Vincent felt very small and selfish and all too ready to purchase a new coffin to go back into eternal slumber.

"'Kay. Here." Cid held the cigarette back towards Vincent without turning around. "I'll finish up and meet ya in the garden."

Vincent took the cigarette, but didn’t move out of the way yet. “Cid.”

“Hm?”

He ducked his head down, pulling his dog tags off, then slipped his arm between Cid’s side and arm, pressing the tags over Cid’s heartbeat. “You don’t remember, but-- I promised, anything you need, for as long as you will have me. I will make this right.”

“Ain’t nothin’--”

“There is,” Vincent insisted. “I corrupted you, made you into a monster…”

“Vincent…” Cid sighed, laying his hand over Vincent’s. “Just… don’t fuckin’ leave me hangin’ ‘cuz of this, alright? We’ll get the hell through it like everything else.”

“Never,” Vincent said, fiercely. “Not even the combined forces of heaven and hell could keep me from your side.”

“Damn, starshine.” Cid shifted around to face Vincent, taking the tags to put them back on him. “Got a hell of a silver tongue. No way can I ever put how much I love ya into words half as fancy.”

“It's… not necessary.” Vincent ducked his head, gaze averted. “That you don't turn me away is enough.”

Cid caught his metal wrist, lifting the hand up to his mouth. The cigarette held between foreclaw and middle claw had a long tail of ashes, which fell away between them. Vincent glanced up and was caught by blue eyes as Cid casually took a drag from the cigarette without taking it. The golden claws framed the side of his face, the sharp points pressing but not yet cutting.

“Finish your smoke,” Cid advised, grinning toothily. “And hang out here a sec, ya can carry our drinks.”

Vincent nodded, struck silent, and turned in place to watch Cid go inside. He did finish the cigarette, after a numb moment of inertia. And when Cid brought a chipped mug of tea and his own mug refilled with coffee, he dutifully took them to the garden bench to wait for breakfast.

A few minutes later, Cid trotted out two plates with scrambled eggs, eggy toast, fried potatoes, and fresh strawberries. Cid’s plate was doused in syrup; Vincent’s was not. They ate in companionable silence-- or, Cid ate, and Vincent vaguely picked at the food, as his appetite never came back. At best, he managed to eat most of the strawberries and a couple bites of everything else. Cid helped clean his plate after giving a few narrow-eyed looks about it.

“Ya oughta drink a shake later,” Cid decided.

“As you wish."


	4. the story's all off

After breakfast, they took their dishes in. The bacon and pan were already taken care of when Vincent stepped inside, the smell all but gone. He bore through the remaining traces with an outward aura of indifference, determined to help Cid tidy up.

When the last dish clacked into place on the drying rack, Cid rinsed and dried his hands one more time and nodded decisively. "Alright, let's go see how bad it is."

"It" being the workshop. Vincent followed Cid out to it and stood a respectful distance away while Cid took in the visible signs of damage outside. Two windows broken, a toolbox and its contents flung through one and, on the other side of the building, an airplane engine not only destroyed the window but smashed the hood of Cid's truck in. That, Vincent realized, solved the mystery of why he couldn't find the truck the night before.

"Holy fucking _shit_ ," Cid yelled. "Come the fuck on, really? A whole goddamn engine, just up and fuckin' flew when it ain't fuckin' go with goddamn fuckin' piece of shit corn oil?! Fuck! Someone get that stupid monster's damn chemical makeup, fuckin' fuel the world on that damn shit."

Shaking his head, Cid paced around to the front doors. He threw them open and walked in to stand in the open space in the middle of the wreckage. Loud outbursts and temper were normal, healthy things for Cid. Utter silence did not bode well. It promised true anger, of the sort that could do lasting damage.

Of the sort that could force a transformation.

Vincent strode up behind Cid to settle his hand against the back of his neck. "Sorry, Chief. I regret not being there for it."

Sinking a little under the weight of Vincent's hand, but not uncoiling and relaxing, Cid glanced sidelong at him. "For what?"

"Your first change."

Blue eyes gone dull flicked towards the devastation. Cid nodded absently. "Seems like it coulda been worse. Assumin' ya corralled my stupid ass."

"You seemed to snap out of it after I... after Galian Beast pinned you."

"Yeah? Good. I don't wanna find out I tore some fuck's throat out." Cid straightened, rolling his shoulders with a noisy sigh. "Fuck, this sets me back so damn much. Ain't gonna be able to keep any meetin's or nothin' if I might lose my cool and _literally_ bite some dumb asshole's head off."

Vincent rubbed soothing circles against the meat of Cid's shoulder where it met his neck. Then he dropped his hand away. Cid cast a tired smile at him, then crossed the workshop to check the back rooms.

"Damn computer's shot," Cid muttered, when Vincent followed him into the study. "Least it looks like the server's okay."

"And the books," Vincent offered.

"Hah, yeah, tryna replace all those'd be a pain in the ass."

While Cid went to glare into the ruined storage room, Vincent looked around the study. Morning sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating slow drifting dust motes. They seemed to glitter, and Vincent felt caught, unable to look away from their ethereal beauty. A particularly large one sank down, drawing his attention to the floor. One of Cid's silver tags gleamed in the light. Vincent knelt to collect it and found the brassy gold one with his name a couple inches away. The third one hid beneath a broken chunk of wood with a scrap of plaid material nailed to it. The chain lay in scattered pieces of silver, not salvageable.

"Fuck, I sure took the damn couch out," Cid grumbled as he came back into the study.

“I might miss that eyesore,” Vincent admitted, but soft.

"Just gonna hafta find ya somethin’ new to nap on.” Cid shrugged, then gestured towards the storage room with both hands. “Vault's okay, couple scratches… Ain't lost the important shit.”

"Cid." Vincent held the tags up, fanned across his palm.

"Hey, fuckin' right on!" Cid ambled over to collect them, thumbing the engraved metal as he eyed the bits of chain on the floor. "Easy fix."

"Mhm." Vincent stood, brushing his fingers against his pants to dust them off.

"Listen, this is too damn much for one day. Help me batten the hatches and let's fuckin' leave it for later."

Nodding, Vincent eyed the mess around them. After all the long, hard work for the WRO and the previous night spent running Cid out, he was _exhausted_. His nerves were frayed, his control over his emotions paltry at best. He wanted to nap forever. But there remained so much to be done, and he didn't want to miss a single moment of all too precious time spent with Cid or any of his fragile mortal friends. Sleeping forever could come later, when the world no longer wanted him.

“...We have an appointment with Lucrecia after eleven.”

"Good thinkin’."

Cid's idea of "battening down the hatches" started with fetching a broom from the house, since his bestial vendetta had not spared the locker full of cleaning supplies in the workshop. He passed the broom to Vincent with an offhand, "Shove the glass into a corner or somethin', wouldja?" Then he was off, hunting down duct tape and tarps to seal the broken windows with.

Tapping his claws against the broom handle, Vincent studied the broken glass. It glinted invitingly. He dismissed the urge to pick up one of the larger pieces with his bare hand, unwilling to follow that stray thought to its foregone conclusion. Cid bled enough for the both of them the night before. The stains still marred the concrete in front of the workshop. Probably painted the grass all over the property, too.

Lacking a proper dustpan, and unwilling to simply sweep the glass off to the side, Vincent cast around for something to use. He settled on a dented sheet of metal, bending it into an appropriate shape over his knee. It worked well enough to sweep the glass onto, but carrying it without dropping anything was a balancing act, particularly with Cid racing about in his usual high energy way.

They almost collided as Cid came flapping by with tarps. "Woah, starshine, sorry!" Cid called, already running off.

Vincent sighed, tilting the makeshift dustpan to shift the glass away from the edges. The urge to dump the glass on the floor was strong. He thought about lingering long enough to witness the pieces fracturing further, a thousand sparkling motes that could cut. If he did that, then he would have to flee somewhere quiet to sleep. Alone. Cid would be upset, too, and that was enough to get him moving again.

The bins outside the workshop survived the rampage. Vincent ferried the glass and got the small satisfaction of listening to it shatter at the bottom of the bins without causing a bigger mess. He did this several more times until all the glass was cleaned away.

Meanwhile, Cid dodged around Vincent seemingly at random, taping up the tarps over the windows. He finished that quickly, though, and vanished into the back rooms to do something or another.

The minute Vincent went to find out what the other man was up to, Cid accosted him, shoving a heavy computer server into his arms. Blinking, Vincent curled his arms under it to keep from dropping it. Cid vanished into the store room long before it ever occurred to Vincent to ask what was happening.

Sometimes, it was better just to become living furniture and let the others--especially Cid!--do whatever they were doing until they ran out of energy. Vincent stepped aside from the door and leaned against the wall, watching and waiting.

In the store room, the rapid click-click-click of a safe dial turning unspooled Vincent’s thoughts. He tipped his head to the side, hearing the moment when the wheels lined up and the fence slid into place. The following clank likely meant Cid opened the vault. Vincent’s knowledge of what lay inside the vault was approximate. Schematics were a given, but Cid tended to be particularly secretive about any projects that were valuable enough to require its smaller parts stored in a vault.

Thus, when Cid came trotting out with a half finished prosthetic arm sitting in the kind of metal toolbox tray that had a handle for carrying, Vincent could only blink.

On noticing his stare, Cid lifted the tray with a shrug. “Was s’posed to be a surprise when I finished it, but…” He looked around the room, taking in the disarray once more. “If my dreams ain’t just dreamin’ and I really did turn into a badass motherfucker, then... someone’s been pokin’ ‘round.”

“...And the schematics?” Vincent felt distant from his own question, unable to look away from the prosthetic.

The hand seemed a complicated knot of wires and bolts, almost lifelike in its emulation of musculature and tendons. The rest was little more than spindly metal pipes in the shape of an arm, the wrist not yet connected to the hand.

“Ain’t no one able to read my goddamn chicken scratch.”

“One day, Chief, that excuse won’t hold any water.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a problem for future me.” Cid trotted out the door and out of the workshop. “Important shit ain’t been printed anyhow, s’all on that hunk of junk you’re carryin’, so don’t fuckin’ drop it.”

Vincent hefted the server more securely, mindful of his claws along the edge. The weight of his responsibility felt much heavier than the server. Like being entrusted with someone’s baby. As he followed Cid out into the sunshine, he recalled the first time he’d been allowed to pick Marlene up, not long after he and Yuffie helped evacuate Midgar. Barret hovered the whole time, anxious but--

_”I shouldn’t taint anyone with this hand--”_

_”Ah, shuddap, we all got blood on our hands.”_

“Hey, ya alright?” Cid asked, standing on the front porch with the screen door propped open by the toe of his boot.

“...Tired.”

“Yeah, been a long fuckin’ couple of weeks, right?"

“Mhm.”

“Well, let’s put this shit in the basement. Like to drag that fuckin’ plane engine into the workshop, if ya don’t mind helpin’, then maybe we can nap ‘til it’s time to go?”

“I would like that.”

Cid flashed a grin at him, all teeth and blue-eyed mirth. One of the many, many things Vincent liked about him was that even though he never seemed to run out of energy, he took every available opportunity to nap. During the crisis, the younger members of AVALANCHE constantly wondered about Cid’s age because he seemed less like a spry thirty-some and more like someone’s grandpa. While they’d bonded in battle and over tea, most of their socializing in the early days centered around having someone they trusted to sleep near. Someone else to wake to fend off nightmares and enemies.

As Vincent entered the house, he nudged his shoulder against Cid’s, leaning more than strictly necessary. He headed down to the basement, passing through their numerous security measures, including retina scans, passcodes, mundane padlocks, and all the rest. After his cabin in Nibelheim was burned down, the basement ransacked, Vincent loved the idea of lax security even less. He couldn’t do much about fireproofing the house, though it was solid cinder block due to Rocket Town’s summer-long tornado watches, but he could certainly insist on making break-ins nigh impossible.

The basement contained Vincent’s armory of guns, a small lab with the rehabilitation chamber that had saved both their lives more than once, and a huge vault for their valuables. Cid took the unfinished prosthetic into the vault, locking it in one of the safe boxes inside. Vincent brought the server over, setting it atop one of the middle rows of boxes.

“That oughta do for now,” Cid murmured, thumbing his nose. “Let’s go get that fuckin’ engine inside before Gaia herself pisses all over the damn thing.”

“Your euphemisms are always so pleasant, Highwind.”

“‘Course, I’m the most damn pleasant guy ya ever dated.”

“I never _dated_ any other man,” Vincent muttered, sweeping away to begin the climb back through the various security checks.

Behind him, Cid made sure everything closed and locked properly. “A damn shame, you’re a fun date.”

“Only you would think frightening the wait staff and being kicked out to be fun.”

“Gettin’ home early means we get to fool around longer.”

Vincent did not physically stumble on returning to the ground floor, but his brain lurched to a halt. As did he, right there in the basement doorway.

Cid bumped into his back with a muffled, “Hey!” He backed up, then reached out to tug at the cloak. “Ya alright, starshine?”

“...Only you,” Vincent eventually managed to repeat. He shook his head, letting his hair fall into his face, and drifted towards the front door. “Spare me the wasted energy next time.”

Out into the dreaded sunshine once more. Cid hurried to fall into step at his side, shoving hands into pockets and sauntering along like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“But I can’t tell if ya just gonna get flustered if I just ask ya to fuck straight out.”

Vincent tucked his nose into his mantle, glaring sidelong. “I do not… get flustered.”

“You’re doin’ it right now.”

“No.”

“Yep.” Cid nodded, smug and self-satisfied as they rounded the workshop. He went over to yank the truck’s tailgate open, then climbed up to grab another tarp. “A good thing ya ain’t got anything to shove me into. Last time it was my goddamn pasta.”

“You deserved it,” Vincent muttered, though he felt exactly the opposite.

Cid deserved a partner that could do mundane things with ease. One who wasn’t at the mercy of a fractured psyche, questionable morals, and a libido that only seemed active when the stars aligned. He hated not being able to predict his own emotions.

“No one fuckin’ deserves pesto up their nose.”

“Not even Shinra?”

“Ehh…” Cid shrugged, hopping down from the truck. He rounded the front, draping the tarp on the ground. “Depends on how much a smug asshole he’s bein’ _this_ week.”

“Hn.”

Normal humans needed lifts and other such machinery to move anything as heavy as an engine. Not them. Cid tended not to bother unless he was alone and whatever he was moving was unwieldy enough to require the extra help. Between the two of them, hefting the engine off the hood of the truck took very little effort. They set it down on the tarp so Cid could tie it up, preventing leakage. Then they hauled it just inside the workshop, off to the side.

Cid gave the thing a kick. “Good enough. Let’s fuck off.”

After Cid finished locking up the workshop, Vincent asked, “Was that a hint?”

“What part?”

“The…” Vincent trailed off, shaking his head. “Nevermind, Highwind."

Cid grinned like a cat with a bowl full of cream. He continued to grin as they went back to the house, as shoes were shucked by the door, and all the way up the stairs. His smug satisfaction lasted until Vincent went into his own bedroom and shut the door in Cid’s face.

“Aw, hey, starshine, don’t be like that!” he called, muffled through the door.

At first, Vincent did not answer. He undid his belts, coiling them into tight little loops before setting them atop his dresser. He shed his cloak and rolled it up, dropping it atop the belts. Last was his gun and holster, which he nestled in the middle of his pillows.

In the hall, the floorboards creaked with Cid’s departure. Always so patient and respectful and never demanding more than Vincent could give. It made his heart hurt. He was being awful again.

Dragging the heel of his hand up over his cheek, digging it into his eye, Vincent took several deep breaths as reddish sparks filled half his vision, semi-transparent.

Getting so worked up because Cid preferred a more direct route in all matters was unfair. Even more so when Vincent tended to be the one to suggest new things whenever they _did_ have sex. He wasn’t a shy, blushing virgin or a prude, yet his damn emotions frequently got the better of him whenever Cid said what he wanted outright. Too many years of hiding and sneaking around, Vincent supposed. No one really cared anymore, yet he couldn’t let go of old habits.

He didn’t want to think too deeply about his long-held suspicion that his mercurial nature was a result of having died long ago, his true self lost to the lifestream, replaced by a shell of a man who did and did not want things in equal measure. That downward spiral led nowhere.

Vincent crossed the room, going not to the door that led back out into the hall, but to the one that connected their bedrooms. He unhooked the latch on his side, then knocked softly, tapping out an apology.

A moment later, Cid opened the door and leaned against the frame, arms folded. He already stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, ready for sleep. “Sorry for teasin’."

“You’re right.”

“Who cares?”

Vincent shrugged, retreating to the bed. He sat on the very edge, near the bottom, with the back of his hands resting against his knees, fingers and claws loosely curled. His gaze stayed low, even when Cid crept closer. Absently, he noted a small hole in Cid’s socks when they came into view. He would need to replace them, since Cid wouldn’t bother.

“It wasn’t a hint, yanno. I was just bein’ an ass.”

All the things he needed to say crowded in Vincent’s head, packed too tight to burst free. He lifted his head and looked dully over Cid’s shoulder, not yet able to meet his gaze.

“Ya ain’t lookin’ so hot.” Rough, calloused fingers brushed against Vincent’s cheeks and jaw, then up to his temples, where they rubbed gently. “Ya sure we gotta be somewhere later?”

“Yes,” Vincent choked out. “You’re… not well either, Chief.”

“We got the chains, ya could just leash my ass if I start barkin’ too loud,” Cid joked, a little flat and off-kilter.

Still, Vincent couldn’t repress the snort of amusement.

He leaned into the gentle touch, breathing deep. Then he made himself look, even if it felt like the hardest thing he’d done all day. And then the easiest because Cid didn’t look anything but a little worried. No revulsion, no anger, just concern wrinkling the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I will be fine.”

Cid searched his face, pressing his hands more firmly against either side. Then he bent to kiss Vincent’s forehead, a gesture that made Vincent feel even more flustered and squirmy than being teased had, but with marginally less shame. It felt nicer than he deserved. He couldn’t resist reaching for Cid, hooking arms around his waist to pull him closer.

“Ya wanna nap still, starshine?” Cid settled his hands against the backs of Vincent’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs idly over tense muscles.

“Please.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Wherever you are.”

“‘Kay, lazy asshole day it is.”

With a nudge against Vincent’s knees with his leg, Cid pulled away and climbed onto the bed. Most of the excess of pillows ended up on the floor as Cid made room for himself, sprawling like he belonged there. Vincent waited until he stopped wiggling around before crawling up to join Cid, sprawling over him instead of any of the remaining pillows.

“Ya got an alarm?”

“No.”

“Want one?”

“Lucy will call us if we’re not there…”

“Ya real people user, Valentine.”

It was a lazy jibe that meant very little, yet it plucked at his heart like a needle, scoring through already tender flesh. For a moment it felt like drowning, all the air gone under an impossible pressure.

“I know.”

Vincent curled in on Cid’s side, fingers clutching at his shirt. A hand settled against the back of his head, as if to hold him more firmly to the steady heartbeat thumping against his ear.


	5. broke my heart

Consciousness returned all at once, taking with it nightmares he forgot as soon as he squinted his raw, dry eyes open. Late afternoon sun slanted through the window, warming the bed where another body did not. For one dizzying moment, the absence filled him with an immense dread, like the whole world slipped out from under him, leaving him to tumble into a starlit void without gravity.

Then he heard Cid's drawl in the hallway, pitched low. Vincent sucked in several rapid breaths, feeling as though his lungs were caught in a vise, his heart skipping out of time. He slid out of the bed and went to peer into the hall.

Cid stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on his hip, the other holding Vincent's very red, very battered phone up to his ear. Still in his boxers and t-shirt, which suggested he hadn't been up long.

"Yeah, no problem," Cid said. "Day got away from us too, Lucy. We'll be by in a lil bit." He paused, listening, then nodded. "Yeah-huh, I'll let him know. See ya soon."

Despite knowing what would happen next, Vincent could not seem to make himself move back into the room to avoid it. The minute Cid turned around, he started, eyes going comically wide. He stumbled back, slipping off the top step. His heel hit the next one down, but couldn't find purchase.

" _Fu--_ "

Vincent lunged, all his pieces flying apart into so many particles without the illusion of the cloak to hold it all together. He swirled through the air, faster than a blink, and coiled around Cid to become solid long enough to grab him roughly by wrist and waist. Then they both dissolved, their atoms mingling to the point that it became impossible to know where one began and the other ended. Like smoke, they flowed down the stairs to the ground floor.

The phone, no longer held by anything solid, bounced down the steps, beating Cid and Vincent to the bottom, and smacked face down on the bottom floor. The heavy duty case and protective glass took another beating, adding new dents and cracks.

Somehow, Vincent managed to pull himself away from Cid, putting them both back together in the span of a couple seconds. Not a single atom out of place, or so he hoped. They settled side by side on the floor, their backs to the stairs.

The very second Cid was solid again, he smacked the flat of his palm against Vincent's shoulder. "Warn a guy, dammit!"

"...Sorry." Vincent tongued the roof of his mouth, frowning. The sour taste that came after a poor brew of tea lingered in the back of his mouth, accompanied by an intense craving for a cigarette.

"Ya alright, starshine?"

Blinking at Cid, Vincent quirked the corner of his mouth. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"The ticker's gettin' a workout, but that ain't nothin' unusual when livin' with a fuckin' spooky bastard." Cid shrugged his shoulder against Vincent's grinning. "So, how 'bout ya?"

"Doesn't feel like we slept," Vincent admitted.

"Ya 'n me, oughta take a few days off and do shit all. If the doctor's orders ain't too fussy, that is."

Closing his eyes, Vincent leaned against Cid a little. "I'd like that." He paused. "...and a cigarette."

"Sounds real fuckin' good." Cid kissed Vincent's cheek, his stubble scratchy but not unpleasantly so. "Lemme get pants."

Cid hopped to his feet, then held his hand out to help Vincent up. For the sheer joy of holding hands, Vincent accepted, and didn't let go even after he stood. Judging by Cid's grin and the way he squeezed Vincent's hand, he didn't mind.

"Gonna need it back to put pants on," Cid joked.

"You can put them on one-handed like the rest of us."

"Ya just dyin' to watch me squirm, huh?"

"Perhaps."

"There're better ways to do that." Cid stooped to rescue the phone from the floor and rubbed it against his belly to dust it off. He offered it to Vincent. "Sorry for usin' your phone without askin'. Ya weren't wakin' up and it was Lucy."

Vincent plucked the phone from Cid's hand between two golden claws. "What did she need?" As he spoke, he tucked the phone into his shirt, letting the cool glass-and-silicone rest against his belly.

It didn't bother him that Cid used the phone--he'd shared his access code because the phone contained nothing more incriminating than their mutual friends' phone numbers. Not that Cid needed the code to answer the phone when Vincent was indisposed, but it'd been a quiet act of trust that Cid continued to treat with respectful care, always broadcasting his intentions.

"Said she had an emergency patient." Cid started up the stairs. Since neither had let go of the other yet, Vincent was pulled along. "Usual sorries and shit. Didn't figure it was a big deal. Doc's gotta prioritize savin' lives, right? I'm not dyin' or nothin'."

"That we know of."

"Real fuckin' optimistic, Valentine."

"Always."

They reached the upper floor, still connected at the hands. Cid pulled at Vincent, dragging him into a rough embrace that squeezed a little too hard at his ribs. Despite his best attempts, Cid still sometimes misjudged his strength. That he still seemed to be changing since being injected with V cells likely didn't help. Squinting, Vincent did not voice complaint, choosing instead to drape his right arm over Cid's shoulders. 

"Well, ya stuck with me. Gonna be old and grey and not able to fly nothin' 'fore I give up the ghost."

"You're going to be a terror with a cane..."

"Damn right."

Sighing, Vincent extricated himself from Cid’s grip just enough to cradle the other man’s face in between claws and fingers. He rested their foreheads together, their breath mingling as he faced down the reality of time marching inevitably forward. If he hadn't ruined everything, then one day soon, Cid would waste away, as was proper.

Cid ran his hands up and down Vincent’s back, slow and soothing. “Still with me, starshine?”

“Always.” He gave Cid a peck on the tip of his nose, forced merriment Vincent didn't really feel. “Just trying to imagine you without your teeth.”

“Lemme help ya.” Cid sucked his lips in over his teeth, giving the illusion of taut toothlessness. He smacked his lips together, and said in a wavering voice, “Pucker up, buttercup.”

“Oh,” Vincent planted his hand against Cid’s face, pushing him away. “No thanks.”

“What a goddamn cruel fate, unwanted by my husband-to-be when I've lost my beauty!” Laughing, Cid swiped his tongue against Vincent’s palm, and once released, he pressed the attack to peck the corner of Vincent’s mouth. “S’okay, I still love ya, even if ya _are_ a vain bastard.”

“I’m not,” Vincent denied as he leaned away.

“So I can go out in public with my ass hangin’ out?”

“No. Pants are a must.” Vincent nudged Cid along towards the bedrooms. “Let's not keep Lucy waiting any longer.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m goin’.”

While Cid went into his own room to dress, Vincent went to collect his gear. With belts, cape, and gun holster secured in their proper places, he felt infinitely better. Too many years with a gun in hand meant he never felt comfortable without one within reach.

Inside the house, it didn't matter quite so much if he left Cerberus behind, as every room had more than one gun hidden away somewhere. Some of them even had spears and knives in easy reach. Vincent's library had no less than ten guns, including a very spiky, heavy silver and black monstrosity hanging on the wall, thanks to Cloud's bizarre sense of humor. His rare visitors liked to ask him if it worked as a running gag, just to irritate him.

Rather than going to find out if Cid finished getting ready, Vincent idled through his room, checking that the hidden weaponry remained as he left them. He found a pair of Cid's goggles under the bed. Hooking one claw around the nose piece, he held them up in the sunlight streaming through the windows, head tilted. Judging by the dust on the lenses, the things had lain forgotten under there the entire time Vincent was away on his mission for the WRO.

He took them across the hall to the bathroom to clean them off, using his cloak to dry and polish the glass. Then, because Cid still hadn't come out and because he was taken by the urge to do so, Vincent secured the goggles around his neck. They settled within the mantle of his cloak, a reassuring weight. As he stepped back out into the hall, they clinked faintly against the silver chain of his tags. A strange sort of satisfaction settled over his restless thoughts, drowning out the creep of misery and self-loathing.

Vincent drifted downstairs to pull his boots on, and to wait near the door. He ended up with one shoulder against the wall to the left of the front door, his arms folded, golden claws tapping against his sleeve.

Cid came down the stairs, his tread oddly light and even. Used to be, he'd come rattling noisily down, sounding like a whole herd of chocobos. Another thing that was changing about him. He walked more like a predator with every passing day.

"Gotta check on the She Devil before we go," Cid said. As he ambled over, his dog tags jangled against his chest on a new gold chain. "Ya mind?"

"No."

Nodding, Cid dropped to sit on the entryway step, grabbing his boots. He yanked them on and laced up quickly. Then he bounced up and out the door, glancing back once to flash that too bright, too sharp grin at Vincent, the one that made his insides go fluttery and warm.

Vincent stepped outside, locking up behind him. He followed Cid across the yard at a much more leisurely pace. By the time Vincent reached the fence around the chocobo corral, Cid had already hopped it. He approached the wary She Devil with his hands up and his voice pitched low and gentle. Vincent propped his arms atop the fence to watch.

The She Devil's pen was equipped with a number of devices Cid built to automate her care in their absence. Everything ran on timers or sensors or both--food, water, temperatures, and even locks.

One device along the baseboard of her stall pushed old straw through a slot that dumped it out into a compost heap behind the stables every few days. New straw was deposited from a dispenser secured to the ceiling. Vincent recalled watching Cid put it together, admiring the new and creative ways Cid found to say his favorite four-letter word. And the triumph afterwards, when it worked.

As far as Vincent understood it, the She Devil only needed someone to come and check that she hadn't escaped and that she wasn't feeling lonely. Cid usually hired someone if he wasn't going to be home. Or asked Shera, as the She Devil took a particular liking to her.

The She Devil paced back and forth, fluffing her feathers up. She lowered her head, swaying it side to side as she kicked up dirt. Cid lowered his hands and stood still. That seemed to calm the She Devil somewhat, as she cautiously lifted her head a few inches.

"C'mon, ya ugly, nasty sack of fluff, quit your bullshit and get over here," Cid said, sweet as can be.

Vincent felt the corners of his mouth twitching upwards involuntarily. He hid it against his upper arm, looking away as though Cid might turn and catch him _smiling_ and have something cruel to say about it. More than thirty years since his last job as a Turk, and even longer since his father's brand of discipline, yet still-- 

He closed his eyes. A glacier slid between him and his thoughts. The chill spread through his veins, a slow creep that numbed his body even as it gave him sharp clarity. His face went slack, unable to hold up the weight of expression any longer.

When next Vincent opened his eyes, it was to see that Cid managed to coax She Devil over. The chocobo grudgingly leaned into hard scratching underneath one of her wings, all while still keeping a wary eye on Cid, as if he might suddenly betray her. Vincent could not think of anything less likely.

In a way, he and the chocobo were alike. Trusting would never come easy, no matter how much kindness Cid showed them.

"Alright, alright, I gotta fuckin' go. Got a date with a much younger, prettier lady." Cid patted the She Devil's side one more time, then began to back away. He kept his voice low and soft. "Ain't got a fuckin' chance in hell with her, and I'm a horrible bastard for cheatin' on ya like this, but that's how it's gonna be."

The She Devil stalked after Cid, taking one step forward every time he took one back. She began to fluff up the feathers along her back and the top of her head, making a low, crackling croak that rose in volume. As long as she marched in step, Cid had nothing to worry about.

Of course she stopped following, hunkering down. She dragged her talons through the dirt, kicking up huge clouds behind her.

"Cid..."

"Yep, I know."

Vincent pushed away from the fence. He dropped his hand to the holster of his gun, fingers lightly curled with a faint tremor running through them.

First-hand experience taught him that once injured, chocobos rarely survived. Still, the thought of watching her die a long, slow, miserable death filled him with a vicious sort of joy that sat uneasily in the back of his throat, tasting like bile. He could picture it clearly. She'd limp around listlessly, unable to fend for herself. Maybe she would get sick and waste away, feathers dropping in clumps to reveal skin stretched taut between fragile bones. Her eyes would go glassy long before the last, rattling breath escaped her rotten body.

As usual, Cid unknowingly became the stand in for a lack of conscience. The knowledge that Cid would be devastated, pointlessly wasting time and energy on trying to save her kept Vincent from shooting.

The She Devil let out an ear-splitting shriek and charged. Without enough track to build up speed, she never stood a chance of catching Cid. He whooped as he jumped high into the air, his t-shirt flapping in the wind as he came back down on the other side of the fence. The bird skidded to a stop, thrusting her head through the fence to scream in Vincent's face.

Vincent jerked his hand away from his gun, his trigger finger squeezing off phantom rounds. His claws flexed as he closed his eyes, the desire to rend and tear so strong it _ached_.

"Oh, fuck off, ya ol' biddy!" Cid smacked the bird upside the beak, making her recoil. "Go be a grumpy jackass somewhere else."

"...She really needs to learn a sense of loyalty."

"No shit. Comes of bein' too busy to socialize her, I guess." Sighing, Cid scuffed the heel of his boot in the dirt. "Damn, if Lucy don't got an easy fix for me goin' all bitey and shit--"

"There isn't one."

"--then I guess I'm fuckin' grounded and the She Devil will have plenty of time to get real damn sick of me, huh?"

Vincent gave Cid a once over, confirming a lack of injury. Then he sighed and reached out with his claws, delicately plucking a piece of faded gold fluff from the front of Cid's shirt. While holding that blue-eyed gaze, Vincent set the fluff in his other palm and blew it away, out over the chocobo corral, where the She Devil paced up and down, her head bobbing as she croaked warnings at them not to try anything else.

"All done, Chief?"

Cid pulled his gaze away from the drifting fluff to flash a smile at Vincent. "Yeah, let's go." He spun on his heel and began to walk towards the workshop, but stopped after a couple of steps. "Shit, my truck's still fucked."

"We can walk..."

"What, not gonna offer me a ride in your hotrod?"

"The last time I parked it anywhere near Highwind Enterprises, I found no less than six engineers pawing at it."

Grinning, Cid slung his arm over Vincent's shoulders. The few inches in height difference forced Vincent to slouch a little to the side. They walked along that way, crossing the yard.

"They're just impressed!"

"No one gave them permission, Highwind."

"Ahh..." Cid let go of Vincent to unlock the front gate, holding it open until they were both out. "Thanks for not shootin' anyone."

"Yet."

That startled a laugh out of Cid. The corner of Vincent’s mouth quirked up against his will; he tucked his face into his mantle to hide it, looking away.

“Alright, c’mon, you, let’s see if we can get over to Lucy’s office without a shootout.” Cid jostled their shoulders together, then set off at a brisk walk with his hands tucked into his pockets.

For a moment, Vincent did not move. He watched Cid strut ahead, struck with charmed amusement at the exaggerated bow-legged swagger that only became more pronounced for four reasons. Cid was not drunk and he was not on an airship, so he must feel very pleased with himself about something, or expected to pass neighbors he particularly wanted to gloat at. He nursed more than one aggressive rivalry with their distant neighbors--including Shera--usually over who had the better mechanical method of streamlining a mundane household chore that week.

“Ya comin’?”

Vincent moved to catch up, not exactly hurrying but taking long, ground-eating strides. He fell in step with Cid, shortening his strides so the shorter man could keep his swagger. They weren’t even remotely near anybody who could see yet. They had to walk almost a mile down the road to pass Shera’s house, and she lived on the very edge of town, her nearest neighbor at least an acre or two away.

“Who is it this week, Chief?”

“That bastard Junior bet me I wouldn’t be back in town ‘til next week. Owes me a hundred gil.” Cid thumbed his nose. “ _And_ I get to have a look at his stupid fuckin’ green car, see what the hell makes it tick.”

Last Vincent knew, Junior’s vehicle of choice was a battered blue-and-white monstrosity, put together from two separate cars. He glanced sidelong at Cid, concerned. “Have you become colorblind?”

“What? No. Not the _color_ of the car, man! They call it green, like… I dunno, fuckin’ eco-friendly because plants and shit.”

“I… see.”

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ stupid. Junior says the damn thing runs on corn syrup. No fuckin’ way. Not enough propulsion in that shit!”

“Hm.”

Vincent knew little of the nuances of fuels, but he had more faith in Cid than he did Junior. Not just because he was shamelessly biased towards anything Cid said or did, but because Cid was a rocket scientist and the owner of an absurd number of patents on various flightworthy machines. Junior’s greatest achievement was that he’d managed to avoid getting shot during, and after, the war in Wutai. He was an even louder braggart than Cid, with less reason to be so.

They passed Shera’s house, and not long after, Junior’s. The blue-and-white car was not in the driveway. Cid blew out an annoyed raspberry at that, grumbling. “Fucker ain’t even home…”

“Likely for the best,” Vincent said, brushing their shoulders together. “You two do carry on…”

“Yeah, well, if the noisy jackass would learn to pipe down when his betters are talkin’, we’d all be better off.”

“Sure, Chief.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean, Valentine!?”

“Nothing at all.”

Vincent lengthened his stride, cloak flapping around him. Cid had no choice but to jog to keep up, muttering curses all the while.


	6. let me in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: needle phobia ahead.

As he and Cid walked across town, Vincent reflected on how much he liked living there, and how surprising that still was. Rocket Town was born of necessity and innovation--there were no natives, only people with the gumption to chase their dreams under the Highwind brand. They came from all over, yet they all seemed to pick up the same boisterous friendliness that Cid himself was famous for, though his came flavored with colorful language and a readiness to punch someone if they rejected his hospitality.

People called out to Cid as they passed, exchanging quick, "How ya doin's," with the Captain. Some tried to get Cid to stop and chew the fat, but Vincent always nudged him along, forcing him to bark out the niceties of farewells in a hurry.

When Vincent first came to Rocket Town, following Cloud's ragtag group, people gawked at him. They kept staring at him through his frequent visits to Cid's (and later Shera's) house in the year following Meteorfall. Then they got used to his presence, and the quality of the looks changed. As it turned out, the locals didn't particularly care much if he was spooky, so long as the Captain vouched for him. Most of them were mechanics and, like Cid, they were dying to have a closer look at his arm.

Curiously, once word got out that he wasn't _just_ the Captain's weird friend but his husband-to-be, a lot of the interest in his arm became... furtive. As long as Vincent was in Cid's company, people kept their eyes and their questions to themselves.

When they made it to Highwind Enterprises, a predictable gaggle of engineers swarmed around Cid, chattering excitedly. Vincent sighed, resigning himself to it. He backed off to a discrete distance to wait.

While Cid was distracted with talking about a new model of engine out of Edge, one of the younger engineers slunk over to Vincent. She eyed him warily, chewing at her lip. He made certain not to meet her gaze, looking somewhere off to the right with disinterest.

"So... your arm is dented."

"Yes."

"Do you have anyone to take care of that for you?"

Vincent shifted from one foot to the other, very pointedly turning his full body towards Cid without saying anything.

"...Right," she mumbled. She came closer, tilting her body to try and get him to look at her. "Um. But... The Captain's always busy, right... If you need someone else--?"

Sighing through his nose, Vincent finally looked at her. Curly gingery red hair, freckles, green eyes, dark skin. She was short, and her grease-stained jumpsuit was unbuttoned down to her belly, revealing a too large, cutesy t-shirt with a mog and several stains on it. Not exactly the dressed down look of one intentionally trying to seduce.

"Is there a reason you waited to get me alone?"

"Uh... Are you kidding?" She laughed incredulously, shaking her head. "The Captain doesn't let _anyone_ get too close to the machines he works on!"

"Ah." Vincent flexed his claws. "You only want me for my arm?"

"Right!! I mean, you're pretty, but I like it uncomplicated. No offense, Mr. Valentine."

"...None taken."

She glanced over her shoulder, checking on the crowd that kept Cid busy debating whether the new engine held a candle to one of their own. "To be honest... there's a betting pool on who can convince you to let them modify your arm without the Captain noticing."

Vincent drew his prosthetic against his side, letting the cape shroud him more completely. "Modified how."

"That'd depend on you, wouldn't it? It's not like anyone's going to do anything to ruin a client's property!"

He blinked, then exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Of course. They weren't discussing forcibly experimenting on him--or his prosthetic. They were merely getting carried away in their enthusiasm for machinery of all kinds. And hoping he would go along with their games, as Rocket Town harbored a fierce competitive streak. One-upping the great Captain Cid Highwind would be a story to tell down at the pub for years to come.

"I have no interest in participating," Vincent said. "If you or your coworkers upset Cid with clandestine propositions towards my person..." He settled the heel of his palm against his gun holster, and stared through her until she fled.

"Hey, Vince!" Cid broke away from the crowd of engineers not long after, eyes alight not just with mako but with good cheer. "Sorry, got caught up in the ruckus..."

"Can we go?"

"Yeah, sure."

With one last wave and a chorus of engineers shouting, "Later, Captain!", they continued on. They didn't have far to go.

Lucrecia's clinic was a small concrete building next to the main Highwind Enterprises workshop-slash-office. An even tinier building with shatterproof glass nestled against the front of the clinic, housing a pair of bored-looking WRO agents that watched Cid and Vincent approach without much interest.

Lucrecia had numerous offers from the WRO and from Rufus Shinra to take her work to a more accessible locale, but understandably, she preferred to stay near her friends. It worked out for the better as it gave Cid and himself easy access to the only doctor that specialized in mako-enhanced patients. Others benefited too, such as the former Luz Vuelve that began to trickle into Rocket Town seeking the work Cid promised them if they served their time out in prison. Even Cloud made regular trips out, at Tifa's insistence.

Lucrecia waited for them at the front door. She held it open for them, a heavy key ring jangling in the lock. "I'm really sorry to see you so late!"

Shrugging a shoulder, Cid strolled inside. "Already said it ain't no big deal."

Vincent followed him in, and they stood together at the end of the waiting room while Lucrecia locked back up. As the building was small, the waiting room was little more than a short hallway with chairs lining it. A camera in the corner whirred softly, focusing on them.

"I know, I know." She squeezed by them, heading for the door at the end of the room. "I had an elderly patient from Costa del Sol ignore medical advice. He's on a HMG-CoA reductase inhibitor and persisted in consumption of fruit containing furanocoumarins and--"

"Layman's terms, lady?" Cid prompted.

"Oh." Lucrecia stopped short, anxiously jangling her key ring by her knee. "Aarón kept eating grapefruits even though it interferes with his cholesterol medicine. They had to chopper him in for detoxing..."

"Stubborn ol' goat, ain't he?"

She laughed, nodding. "Yes."

Lucrecia led them through an exam room equipped with little more than a stool, an old armchair, and a small set of cupboards with counter space on top. On the other side, a hallway ran to the right, passing two rooms for overnight stays. An older man hooked up to numerous devices occupied one of those rooms. Aarón, presumably.

At the next turn, they bypassed the door to the operating room, and finally came to Lucrecia’s lab at the end of the hall. It was there that the bulk of her work took place, armed with a trio of rehabilitation chambers and a wall to wall computer.

Two cameras watched them from either side of the room. As Vincent understood it, the WRO kept close tabs on Lucrecia’s work, monitoring not only her office but all of her digital activities for any lapses into dangerous research. He still hadn’t given her any of her old files, so he was not certain how she was expected to pick up where ShinRa left off.

“Have a seat,” Lucrecia invited, gesturing towards the mismatched chairs and couch arranged somewhat haphazardly on one side of the room.

Someone had made an attempt at livening the place up with a large potted plant, but it drooped for want of sunlight, as the lab had no windows. Vincent itched to steal it. With effort, he tore his gaze away, moving to perch on the edge of one of the chairs. Cid sprawled on the couch, throwing his feet over the arm.

Lucrecia took her seat in front of the computer, rotating it to face them. “Tell me what’s happened?”

Vincent shot Cid a look and Cid flicked his fingers, mouthing, _Go on_. Sighing, Vincent shifted so that he faced neither of the others. “It happened to you, Highwind.”

“Yeah, but I ain't the one that remembers shit.”

“You should start with the dreams,” Vincent deflected.

“Gentlemen, please,” Lucrecia said, holding her hands up. “It doesn't really matter who tells me, does it?”

“If ya want any kinda sense, then ya oughta hear from--”

“--the _patient_ ,” Vincent said, over Cid’s, “--Vince.”

“Quit bein’ a dick, Valentine.” Cid sat up, swinging his legs off the couch to plant his boots firmly on the floor. “If ya worried, just fuckin’ say it instead of pickin’ fights.”

“...Sorry.”

“Back atcha.”

Lucrecia coughed into her fist, turning away to grab a clipboard from atop the computer console. “Let's see, um, your last check up was about two months ago and everything looked fine…” She glanced up, fiddling with her pen. “Vincent expressed concern that you transformed?”

“Fuckin’ trashed my goddamn workshop, is what I did.”

“May I borrow pen and paper?” Vincent asked, not quite able to meet Lucrecia’s gaze. He studied her sensible, brightly colored sneakers instead.

“Of course.” She brought him the clipboard and pen, removing the forms on top, then returned to her seat. “So, let's start with those dreams and go from there?”

“Yeah, alright.” Cid huffed, flopping back on the couch. He draped his arms over the back and crossed his legs at the ankles.

While Cid described his dreams, Vincent bent over the clipboard and began to sketch. He was long out of practice but soon enough his haphazard lines began to take a close enough approximation of what he wanted to show. If he'd been thinking more clearly during the incident, he would have taken photos with his phone. The best he could offer were a few sloppy sketches, filling up three and a half pages with all the detail he could recall.

“Vincent?” Lucrecia’s voice pulled him away from the restless scratch of pen on paper.

He lifted his head, blinking owlishly. Both Lucrecia and Cid looked at him expectantly, the former somewhat worriedly and the latter with amusement.

“Ah.” Vincent held the clipboard out towards Cid, gazing straight ahead, over Lucrecia’s shoulder.

“Woah, damn, is that it? Fuckin’ gnarly lookin’.”

While Cid flipped through the sketches and got acquainted with his other self, Vincent withdrew to a small part of his mind and began to mechanically report the incident. His back and shoulders straightened, hands laying flat against his thighs. Regressing to the training of a Turk to report to a superior, keeping his emotions in check so he wouldn't have to relive the memories as they flickered by.

He described everything. Returning home in the dead of night, finding the workshop in disarray, the destruction and mayhem, Cid’s strange little nest. The measures he took to herd Cid out of the workshop without doing serious harm, and the wary reticence Cid showed towards his person.

As Vincent spoke of using the beast to pin Cid, Lucrecia interrupted to ask, “He regained lucidity after the encounter with Galian?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She fumbled for another pen, propping her papers against the computer console to make a few scribbled notes. “Okay, continue…”

Vincent paused, feeling his thoughts slip from his grasp like water through his fingers. He inhaled, deep and slow, and looked over at Cid until the words came back to him. Careful to keep everything impersonal, Vincent described helping Cid run his excess energy off, and the discovery that Cid couldn't breathe fire. He didn't want to express any of the undeserved joys he'd felt, not to anyone but Cid.

By the time Vincent finished talking, exhaustion settled over him heavily. He shrank into his cloak, tucking his face into his mantle. Cid got up and took the clipboard to Lucrecia, then came over to sit on the arm of Vincent's chair. He did not crowd close, which Vincent appreciated.

"...Well," Lucrecia said at length. "I think the first step is to collect samples and compare. If you both agree, that is."

"Whaddya want, blood?"

"Yes. Ideally, I'd like to have some from human and monster forms." Lucrecia held the clipboard up, flipping through the sketches again. "...but I think it may be a little early for controlled transformations?"

"I don't even fuckin' remember changin' the first time." Cid shrugged. "Don't remember changin' back, neither. Wouldn't know the first damn thing 'bout how to do it."

"Right. There may be ways to trigger it forcibly, but..."

"No," Vincent rasped, straightening.

Lucrecia nodded, gently setting the clipboard in her lap and folding her hands atop the inked sketches. "No. I'm not going to. You're my friends."

Cid set his hand on Vincent's shoulder, light at first, then with more pressure when he wasn't thrown off. Vincent kept his gaze on Lucrecia as he leaned towards the other man.

"I'm going to be honest here, anything I might do to help will be... untested and unfortunately experimental."

"We're the only ones." Cid scratched the side of his neck. "Lucky us."

"Right. So... I can try to come up with treatment plans, depending on what you want to work towards."

"Cure him," Vincent said.

Cid twisted around to stare at Vincent, brows furrowed with indignant shock. "Hey, now, ya ain't even gonna ask me?"

"You don't want this... to be a monster at the mercy of your emotions."

"Oh, and I'm s'posed to fuckin' let ya keep dealin' with this shit alone?"

"I have done for thirty years..."

"Real fuckin' well."

Vincent hunched down, folding his arms with his fingers and claws digging into his ribs. He heard Cid blow out an exasperated sigh, vaguely registered the whispered apologies and rough fingers dropping away from his shoulder, sliding down his back and then withdrawing. A line crossed, but one Vincent thought he deserved to be lashed with again and again.

"Um, well, gentlemen," Lucrecia murmured, awkwardly. "Let's um... start with the blood samples, shall we?"

She fled the room, presumably to go retrieve the things she needed for drawing their blood. After the click of the lab door shutting, Cid slid off the arm of the chair and moved to the far side of the room to pace in front of the rehabilitation chambers. Vincent stayed where he was, staring down without really seeing anything. The silence between them was oppressive, but could not last. Cid could never let it be when they were stuck in close quarters.

"...Ya said my beast kept backin' off from Galian."

"Yes."

"And when ya... uh. Forced my ass to siddown, I woke up?"

Tiredly, Vincent nodded. He peered sidelong through the fall of his hair. Cid stopped in front of the middle chamber to fold his arms, head tipped back as if he could see the sky through the bland, white plaster ceiling.

"So... I don't know shit 'bout animal behaviors, but I remember watchin' a documentary 'bout how some of them, they establish dominance and shit. Seemed bullshit to me, but the hell do I know?"

"What's your point, Chief?"

Cid rubbed at the back of his head, shrugging his other shoulder. "Did mine recognize yours as the boss?"

As if it were happening anew, Vincent tasted the hot rush of coppery blood in his mouth. He remembered fighting down an inappropriate surge of instincts, ones that he wasn't certain he wanted to voice now, not when Cid seemed put off earlier. 

"What does it matter?"

"Lucy ain't gonna have nothin' that'll help us for a long ass time, if ever, Vince."

"Stealing my job, Cid?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, lemme be the fuckin' pessimistic asshole for once." Cid waved his hand dismissively. "But she ain't. It's just logic. So... if it comes down to it, can ya help keep my beast in line 'til I snap outta it?"

"I don't know." Vincent twisted the forefinger of his gauntlet against his side, digging enough to hurt but not enough to tear through the cloth. "I can only try."

"Good 'nuff." As if that settled everything between them, Cid crossed the room to crouch in front of Vincent. He peered up into Vincent's face, keeping his hands on his own knees. "We'll get through this, starshine."

With a shaky breath, Vincent unfolded his good arm. He reached out to brush gloved fingers against Cid's scruffy jaw. "...You're not very good at pessimism."

Cid barked a laugh, catching Vincent's hand to give it a brief squeeze. "Nah, I guess not!"

"I suppose I have no choice but to show you the ropes."

"Just warnin' ya, I'm a shitty student."

"That's fine, I'm a terrible teacher."

Lucrecia returned with a tentative knock on the door, which gave Cid ample time to stand up and return to sitting on the couch. She peeked in as if expecting them to be indecent, then came fully into the room, carrying a plastic phlebotomy tray loaded with glass tubes, syringes, tourniquets, and more. Vincent tracked its progress across the room as she carried it over to set it atop her computer console.

"Who's first?" she asked, brightly over the light clap of her hands.

"Prolly me." Cid sat forward on the couch, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Where ya want me?"

"In the other chair, if you please."

While Cid shifted over to the other armchair, Lucrecia rolled her computer chair over. She brought the tray and set it in Cid's lap with a murmured, "If you wouldn't mind?" Then she went about donning latex gloves and efficiently prepping his arm for drawing blood.

Vincent looked away, their voices growing distant as he withdrew from the situation. The room was not the bland white examination rooms of ShinRa, nor the dingy basement laboratories under the mansion in Nibelheim. Yet still, he thought he heard a nurse say, _Valentine, V?_ over the wild laughter of a madman setting pain in motion to see how the test subject would react.

"Vincent?" Lucrecia said. "Vincent, are you okay?"

He blinked, refocusing on the present. On her face, not trapped behind crystals. A glance to the side gave Vincent a more grounding reassurance that he wasn't hallucinating--Cid watched with a worried frown, flexing his arm as he held a swab of cotton against the crook of his elbow.

"Sorry. I'm alright."

"Will you be okay to have your blood drawn today?"

"Yes." 

He wasn't, not really, but she needed what little information she could glean from his cells. The longer he delayed, the longer it would take for her to help Cid. Vincent stripped off the glove and rolled his sleeve up, revealing his too pale skin, the veins standing out starkly.

Lucrecia looked at it, but made no move. "Okay. Is there anything we can do to make this easier?"

"Do it quickly," Vincent said, even as his gaze strayed towards Cid again.

Cid got up and came around to sit on the arm of the chair. He dropped his hand down, catching the brassy gauntlet, heedless of claws. Vincent made to pull away, but the stubborn idiot gripped tightly, narrowing blue eyes at him in silent challenge. Relenting immediately lest he seriously hurt Cid, Vincent sank back into the chair.

Very few tortures matched the mundane act of getting blood drawn. Frigid, disgusting smelling antiseptic swiped across skin vigorously with a rough cotton ball. A restraint tied far too tight around his upper arm, bruising and cutting off circulation. Tacky latex fingers flicked against the skin of his elbow, stinging with impatience for his veins to cooperate. Then came the sharp jab, for once lacking the false reassurances that it "won't hurt a bit" because Lucrecia understood not to lie to him like that. And worst of all, the feeling of his blood being pulled forcibly out through the tiny pin-sized hole.

Vincent shuddered, pressing his face against Cid's arm. He barely registered when Lucrecia finished, putting a bandage on the new hole, then rolling his sleeve back down to hide it.

"Thank you," she said, gripping his wrist. "I'll do my best to find something to make this worth it.

"C'mon, starshine, let's go for a walk."


	7. bruises on you

Under a sky gone ruddy, Vincent sat on the curb outside Lucrecia's clinic with his knees drawn up. The backs of his forearms rested against his knees, arms held straight out with wrists limp. A cigarette dangled between his claws, burnt almost to the filter, the ashes clinging precariously to the end. His cloak spread around him like blood, half incorporeal as it shifted and oozed.

Vincent stared up at the sky and felt as though he floated inside his own skull, cut off from reality by the slosh of cerebrospinal fluid. At the same time, he was hyper aware of his surroundings, all too ready to crawl out of his skin at every sound, every sensation, every tiniest flicker of movement.

Cid stood a respectful distance away, arms folded and hip cocked. He'd brought Vincent out of the clinic, muttering swear-filled reassurances as if he could bodily chase away the unpleasant memories, but once outside, he didn't crowd Vincent or needle him with well-meaning questions.

With the slightest twitch of claws, Vincent tapped the ashes away. He came back to himself piece by piece, and as he did, he looked over at Cid. His heart swelled and ached, overburdened with the weight of ardor.

"Cid."

"Yeah?" Cid shifted around to peer down at Vincent, not yet unfolding his arms. Holding himself back for Vincent's sake.

 _I love you_ , Vincent thought, as his throat closed up, barring any sound from escaping.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the concrete between his boots, then tucked the butt away into a hidden pocket for later disposal.

On his next inhale, he stood. On the exhale, he stepped close to Cid. Warily, Cid tipped his head, lowering his arms. Vincent crowded into the empty space so that they were chest-to-chest, Cid’s dog tags digging against Vincent’s sternum.

"...Later, will you..."

The crunch of gravel and rumble of a car engine cut Vincent off. A gray town car pulled up, parking to their left. Neither man moved apart, simultaneously turning their heads towards the new arrival.

After the engine shut off, a burly woman popped out of the driver side, bracing her large arms atop the door. Vincent knew her, but could not remember her name. She was one of the former Luz Vuelve, and a friend of Cid’s.

“You lot fixin’ to throw down?” she asked, grinning.

“Like hell!” Cid shot back. “Maybe we’re gonna measure our dicks. Ya want in, Mandy?”

“Both know I got ya both beat.”

With a groan, Vincent stepped away, hiding his face behind mantle and hair. He shook his head, shrinking away from Cid’s reaching fingers and his murmur of, “Aw, starshine, sorry--”

The passenger side door opened up, letting out a short, dark man as broad as Mandy, dressed in off-pink scrubs and blindingly turquoise running shoes. The man, Davin, smiled in fond exasperation, showing stark white teeth. “Now, now, y’all, this kindsa talk is best done at the pub, don’t ya think?”

“Sure,” Mandy said. “Heard the Captain’s busy with a pretty new wife.” She glanced slyly over at Vincent.

“Rumor mill’s full of bullshit as usual, huh?” Cid thumbed his nose, grinning. He twisted on his heel towards Vincent, winking. “If anyone’s the wife, it’s gonna be me.”

“...Sure, Chief.”

Behind them, the clinic door jangled as Lucrecia pushed it open. She leaned out, brushing the hair from her eyes. "Oh, good, you're still here. I'm still analyzing, but..." She glanced over at the car, smiling brightly, then peered worriedly at Vincent. "Do you want to come back in to talk about it now, or...?"

A surge of adrenaline rushed through Vincent's veins. It took a herculean effort not to vanish then and there. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing evenly. "We should--"

"Nah," Cid said, coming to the rescue. He stepped up next to Vincent, jutting his shoulder against the restlessly shifting cloak until it settled. "We're gonna be over for dinner, right? Can talk 'bout it then."

"Okay! Um, if you can give me a few minutes, I can give you a ride."

"Sounds good, Lucy."

Meanwhile, Davin and Mandy murmured quietly amongst themselves. Vincent caught a snatch of, "See you after," from Mandy before he pulled his attention away, refocusing on the solid weight of Cid against his side.

Davin shut the passenger door and rounded the car. He waved at Mandy as he walked up to the clinic door to join Lucrecia. "Hello, doctor."

"Thank you for coming in tonight, Davin." Lucrecia backed out of the way, holding the door open for him. "Let me give you the rundown..."

As doctor and nurse vanished inside, Mandy thumped her palm against the roof of the car. "Don't be a stranger, Captain. Come plant your own rumors for once. Later."

"Yeah, yeah, see ya."

Then she dropped back into her car, yanking the door shut, and drove off, leaving just Cid and Vincent standing outside the clinic again. Vincent tipped his head back, noting red hues giving away to purple. Soon, the sun would vanish entirely and night would shroud everything.

"Ya were gonna ask me somethin', earlier."

"Ah."

Vincent ducked his face into his mantle. His breath fogged the goggles hidden there, warming his chin. He lifted his hand, tapping the tips of his fingers against the lens through the cloth, a discordant beat that helped him think until--

"Hey, whatcha got?" Cid squinted, sidling closer to stand on his tiptoes.

"Finders keepers."

"What the hell, man, are _you_ the reason I can't never find my goddamn goggles?"

"No," Vincent lied, squinting his eyes nearly shut. "I do not have a collection of them in my closet."

" _Sure_ ya fuckin' don't!" Cid said, laughing as he sank back onto his heels. "Whatever. Lend me some so I don't lose an eye?"

Vincent put his forefinger and middle finger against Cid's cheek, right under one eye. He felt the pull of skin as Cid grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. "That would be a terrible tragedy."

"Damn right."

Finally, what he wanted-- what he needed came to him. "I need... ground control."

Cid caught Vincent's hand, holding it firmly against the side of his face. "Yeah, okay. I gotcha. Ya still up for dinner at Shera's?"

As tempting as it was to say _no,_ doing so would disappoint more than Cid. Vincent glanced sidelong at the door to the clinic, thinking of the pinched fold of skin between Lucrecia's brows that always appeared when she was trying not to let on that she was upset. Or how Shera's dimples faded gradually when mirth gave away to sorrow.

"I'll be fine."

"'Kay... Whatcha need, then?"

"I don't know."

Cid nodded, releasing Vincent's hand so that he could pull his phone out of his back pocket. "Well, if ya up for it, we could go out?"

"Where."

"The usual?"

As Cid fiddled with his phone, Vincent stepped behind him, bending to rest his bony chin against a well-muscled shoulder. Cid shrugged a little to force him to resituate it, then grabbed him by the cloak to keep him from retreating.

"Stay on, ya bony bastard, let's see what's showin'."

Vincent slouched further, putting more of his weight against Cid's back. He watched as Cid navigated through apps. The local theater's web page took a while to load, but soon, gaudy, pixelated rocket ships and colorful lettering filled the screen. Cid scrolled through it to the short listing of the night's b-rated showings, running well into the early morning as it did every night.

"Romance, action, or horror?" Cid asked.

"Depends."

"On?"

"The movie titles."

Cid dutifully read aloud, "Rising Tide, The Wind is Afraid, Extraforce."

"...Extraforce? What kind of insipid nonsense is _that_? Furthermore, how is the _wind_ afraid?"

"I don't fuckin' know. Do ya wanna know what they're about?"

"No, I don't care. Which one is Rising Tide?"

"The romance. Are ya really gonna make me sit through sappy shit?"

"Hmm, I don't know..." Vincent curled his arms around Cid's waist, turning his face into the other man's neck to breathe in his scent. "Do you think anyone else is going to pay to see the... 'sappy shit' late at night?"

"Nnnno," Cid said, long and slow and hesitant. "Could just stay home if you're insinuatin' somethin', Valentine."

"Thought you enjoyed awkward dates."

"Sure, but I'm gonna be real fuckin' pissed if ya get us banned from the only good theater in town."

Vincent pushed his hand up, under Cid's shirt. He splayed his fingers over the quiver of muscles, smirking against Cid's neck. "The rumor mill would lose its mind."

Cid caught him by the wrist and pulled his hand out from under the shirt. "Not the kinda shit I want spread all over town!" He twisted around to face Vincent without letting go. "I ain't sharin' what goes on 'tween ya and me, alright?"

"Ah." Vincent shifted, starting to lean away.

"Nothin' below the belt," Cid clarified, raising his brows with a wide grin. "Ya wanna make out in the back of a shithole theater?"

“I thought it was the only good one,” Vincent murmured.

Cid poked the corner of his phone against Vincent’s chest. “Yanno damn well what I mean!”

“Hmm.” Vincent nudged the phone away, making a show of rubbing at his chest as though deeply wounded. “Bribe me with a milkshake, and I won’t make you suffer trashy romance.”

“Fuckin’ sold.”

Lucrecia exited the clinic right as the street lights began to flicker on. She shifted her purse and her laptop bag awkwardly under one arm so that she could lock up. Then she turned towards the two men and brushed her hair out of her face, smiling apologetically. "Thanks for waiting. Let's go home, shall we?"

"Hell yeah." Cid grinned, rocking on his toes. "What's for dinner?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Lucrecia said with a wink.

She led them around to the back of the clinic, where her sensible brown town car sat with foil windshield shades blocking the windows. After unlocking the car, she and Cid put the shades away in the trunk. Vincent stood off to the side, watching the mundane ritual while his sense of self drifted away. He missed Lucrecia saying something to him on her way to the driver's seat, but Cid got up in his face a moment later, tugging at the cape mantle.

"Hey, starshine, this is ground control tellin' ya to get your ass in the car."

"Mm."

Vincent slid into the backseat. He expected Cid to take the front seat with Lucrecia, since one of them usually did when they rode with her. Instead, Cid shoved into the back, jostling his knee against Vincent's as he took entirely too much space.

"Everything okay?" Lucrecia asked, glancing at them in the rearview mirror as she started the car up.

"Nothin' we can't handle, right, Vince?"

Two sets of eyes on him, both surrounded by the wrinkles of worry. A fierce ache swelled between sternum and esophagus, making his throat tight. He loved them both in different ways, but as always, _saying_ it eluded him.

Vincent lifted one shoulder, turning his face away. "I'm alright."

As Lucrecia drove them off the Highwind Enterprises property and into town, Cid's hand settled above Vincent's knee, occasionally squeezing whenever they rolled over a bump. After a while, Vincent set his metal claw against the back of Cid's hand, keeping the cutting edges of talons well away from flesh. He stared out the window to his right, watching the familiar sights of Rocket Town all lit up for the night roll by.

The lights were on at Shera and Lucrecia's house and Shera's car sat in the driveway. Vincent heard Lucrecia let out a relieved breath as she pulled in to park. Like Cid, Shera was something of a workaholic and the chances of her missing out on a promised dinner were high.

They piled out of the car and into the house to find Shera in the kitchen. The smell of tea filled the room. She glanced up from chopping vegetables with a bright smile, using the back of her wrist to push her glasses up. "Hello, you lot."

Lucrecia toed her shoes off, then dumped her bags and keys on the kitchen table. She wandered over to crowd Shera, resting her cheek against a shoulder to watch the prep. Vincent lingered in the entryway, leaning against a wall. He was struck by the surreal domesticity of seeing his former lover so at ease with someone else. Disliking it and grateful for it in the same breath.

Meanwhile, Cid abandoned his boots in favor of getting into the tea. Though he shot a concerned look Vincent's way, he carried on as though everything were normal.

"The hell's this shit?" Cid demanded, staring into the pot.

"Cactuar flower," Shera answered. She murmured something quiet to Lucrecia, nudging her in the side. The other woman laughed and scooted away, leaving room for Shera to work without elbowing anyone.

"Why in the-- Shera, are ya ever gonna drink fuckin' normal tea?"

"When you buy my tea, Captain, you can have a say in what I serve."

Cid laughed, dropping the pot lid back in place. "All fuckin' right then, boss lady."

Despite his complaint, Cid still fetched mugs out and poured. One for Lucrecia, with two spoonfuls of sugar. One for himself with plenty of sugar and a lot of sour, side-eyed looks. One for Vincent, left plain. He didn't fill Shera's mug yet, since she was up to her elbows in onions and garlic.

"Hey, Valentine!" Cid called, lifting the mugs. "Let's go hog the TV."

Vincent lifted his head slowly. He eyed the mugs, then the back of the couch with the top of the television peeking over it. Suddenly, he wanted nothing to do with any of it. The domestic scene, the mundanity, the concern of his friends, any of it. He stood frozen in place, aching with the need to feel the night close in on him, the wind in his hair, and the silence of loneliness.

It was not Cid that broke through to him that time, but Shera. "Vincent, would you like to help me with dinner?"

He blinked, snapping back to himself all at once. Wordless, Vincent inclined his head. He toed his boots off, then shrugged his cloak off, hanging it on the coat rack. As he padded into the kitchen, passing Cid, he did not look at the other man, but he made a fist and rubbed it in a circle against his chest.

"Pssht, stealin' my date, huh, Shera? Fine, have it your way." Cid didn't sound upset, but relieved. He set Vincent's tea down at the end of the counter, then went into the living room alone.

Not for long, though, as Lucrecia went to join him. They argued good naturedly over what channel to watch as they got settled onto the couch.

"Do you know how to make moussaka?" Shera asked, scraping her minced garlic and diced onions into separate bowls.

"No." Vincent eyed the assortment of components sitting out on the counter. "I... don't cook as often as I should."

Shera smiled up at him, then moved over to the sink to wash her hands off. "Neither do I. Just don't have the time for it." She wiped her hands off on her apron and studied him. "Would you mind letting me tie your hair back?"

"...Alright."

At her silent gesture, he took a seat on one of the stools, bringing himself down to her level. Shera fetched a hair tie from a drawer. She pulled his hair back into a loose tail that hung down his back, getting the majority of it out of the way.

"Okay! Let's make moussaka. I've already got my onions and garlic ready, now..."

Shera walked him through the entire process. They sliced eggplants and seared them in oil. While the eggplant drained on paper towels, Shera had Vincent cook ground beef in butter with salt, pepper, the onions, and the garlic. He gave her a wary, sidelong look when she crowded him to add cinnamon, parsley, and other herbs to the meat near its completion.

She just smiled at him. "Don't let it burn!"

Hastily, he stirred the mixture. As he did so, Shera dumped in tomato sauce and wine, laughing as it splattered across the stovetop. Vincent dropped his spoon, startled by the pop of hot sauce hitting his hand.

"Sorry," Shera said, hurriedly getting him a wet rag. "I didn't mean--"

"Hey, y'alright?" Cid called from the couch. He sat up with his arm draped over the back. "Ain't burnin' the fuckin' house down?"

Vincent inhaled, then exhaled. "It's fine." After Cid turned back to his show, Vincent said, quietly, "You two are... very alike."

"It's probably why we drove each other crazy." Shera fetched out a lid and covered the pot. She turned the heat down. "This needs to simmer for a while, if you want to take a breather..."

"Thank you."

He retreated out the back door, grabbing his boots on the way. No one followed him out into the dark, for which he was grateful. He sank into a crouch out in the middle of the back yard and did nothing at all except breathe.

And the world breathed with him.

Vincent lay flat on his back in the grass, felt it tickling against the sides of his face and neck. He stared straight up at the stars, which seemed too close and yet still so far away. The world thrummed with life beneath him, the happy little hum of a child on the mend with no need to fear for its future. Beside him, a presence settled, soft and warm and barely there.

The others only ever saw Her in their dreams. For Vincent, the veil was ripped away. Between death and Chaos, he felt the lifestream as though it were his own blood. She was there and not there, far more real than the auditory hallucinations and skittering shapes that his brain conjured up. He needed only reach out for Her and he would be standing in an endless field of flowers.

He once told Cid, _I have lost Chaos._

Not the whole truth.

The truth stretched out before him, a yawning abyss that he would soon fall into and be unable to escape. Chaos was gone. Not just from him, but gone entirely. One day, the planet would grow old and die. He would be there to complete his final duties, long after everything he ever knew and loved was forgotten.

“...Will he inherit Chaos, too?”

 _No,_ She said. _We only need one Chaos._

Vincent turned his head towards Her, frowning. The yellow flowers bloomed up around them, obscuring his line of sight. He made no move to sit up to try and see Her face, knowing from experience that it would do no good.

“You used him before…”

_He agreed to help! He is… you all are-- precious to me. And the planet._

“They will all die eventually.”

_We can change that._

A chill rushed through him. He shrank from Her well-meaning intentions, shutting his eyes as he gagged on the cloying stench of flowers. “No,” he insisted. “Let them go. Don’t make them suffer this--”

“Vince?” Cid’s voice called him back from the other side. “Hey, starshine, ya okay down there?”

Vincent snapped his eyes open and peered up at Cid, who stood bent over him with hands fisted against hips. Wordless, Vincent lifted his hand up to push a stray lock of blonde hair away from Cid’s forehead.

Planet be damned, then, if She thought She might play with their lives like that.

“I will be.”


	8. like my fingerprints

After dinner, they gathered in the living room for drinks. The television buzzed quietly in the background, playing some classic movie or another that Vincent and Lucrecia missed out on during their decades of death-like sleep. The captions were laughably bad, prompting more than a few disparaging remarks from Cid.

Shera sat with her legs curled up under her on the couch, braced against the arm. She drank a non-alcoholic lemon-lime soda, as she had work in the morning. Her attention strayed from the movie to the small handheld gaming device she fiddled with. It made no sound but flickered with brilliant light that reflected off of her glasses.

Beside her, Lucrecia lay with a pillow propped against Shera's hip, her pretty legs draped over the other arm of the couch. Her long hair hung down to the floor, and she watched the movie with rapt attention, her eyes flicking across the screen. A can of beer sat against her belly.

Vincent nursed a glass of red wine of a shockingly well-aged vintage. He sprawled in the armchair, his legs spread because Cid sat on the floor between them. Like Lucrecia, Cid drank canned beer and leaned on another person. His head rested against Vincent's knee whenever he wasn't sitting up to jeer at the captions or chatter animatedly at Lucrecia about the special effects behind a particular scene.

"Oh," Lucrecia said, abruptly, cutting off Cid's latest explanation about how they managed to make the monster's head explode so realistically. "Did you want to discuss my findings on the bloodwork?"

"S'fine with me." Cid tipped his head back while jostling his elbow against Vincent's calf. "How 'bout ya, starshine?"

"I don't mind."

Lucrecia rolled off the couch. She seemingly forgot that she had a beer, and it went sliding off the couch. Yet, she caught it before it hit the floor without looking at it. She wandered off to the kitchen to fetch her laptop, chugging the beer as she went.

"Ah-hah!" Shera crowed. "Look at this, Captain."

Cid leaned forward to accept the proffered gaming device and let out a low whistle. "That's a hell of a score. Damn."

"Think you can beat it?"

"Fuck yeah I can."

"Cid," Vincent said, sliding his hand through short blond hair. "Don't get too carried away."

"Eh, why not?" Cid leaned back into the touch. "Would do the boss lady good to get her ego crushed once'n a while."

"Can you really pay attention while playing?"

"Yeah, Captain," Shera chimed, smirking. "Maybe you should humiliate yourself failing to beat me on your own time..."

"Fuckin'-- watch me, I'll come sit my ass at your desk and broadcast beatin' ya into the ground for the whole damn shop to see."

Laughing, Shera shot back, "A very productive use of our time, I'm sure."

Lucrecia came back to flop on the couch with a fresh beer and her laptop. She opened the latter one-handed, typing rapidly as she settled back on her Shera-supported pillow. "Are you two flirting again?"

"Eugh, no fuckin' way. Ya can keep her."

"Your loss."

Cid made a face up at Vincent while the two women smiled at each other. Vincent looked away, taking a deep drink of wine. He still felt very out of his element and too ready to throw himself out the nearest window to escape into the night, and all the easy camaraderie only worsened the feeling.

"Okay, so," Lucrecia said, all brisk business. "I've kept bloodwork records, starting with the day you, um... died, Cid. For the both of you. And myself, for comparison's sake."

"Why yours?" Cid asked. He set the handheld aside, sitting forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

"Because I am the purest living source of J Cells still alive."

"Oh, right."

"So I have your blood with only mako exposure, then the course of the week after injection with V cells... And today, of course." She turned the laptop towards them, tilting the screen to show a complicated mess of charts. "Obviously I'm not done analyzing, but we can already see stark differences here and here." She indicated different points of the chart.

"I'm hopin' you're gonna explain this shit so a grease monkey can get it, 'cuz this looks like a whole lotta code and squiggles."

"Yes, sorry, hang on... Um." Lucrecia put the tips of her fingers together, thoughtfully studying the ceiling. "Let's start with the first sample."

She pulled the laptop back to herself and tapped a few keys. Then she scooted closer to the end of the couch, presenting a single chart, with rows of jumbled letters and numbers to one side and a close-up view of some sort of cells to the other.

"So this is what normal human blood looks like with mako exposure."

Cid picked his beer up, took a swig, then rattled the nearly empty can at her. "What's the difference 'tween that and without?"

"Well... Immediately after exposure, there's increased cell count, as the body kicks into overdrive. Even without Jenova, mako exposure can speed up healing. But it's not trying to heal, it's trying to _change_."

"Change into what?" Shera asked.

"The nature of the lifestream is that it's always trying to change. It repurposes the energy from dead organisms to make something new."

Vincent tipped his head to the side. He thought of the monsters inside the Nibel Reactor. He thought of himself. He thought of the growing dread he felt, watching Cid floating in a bath of mako, at risk for permanent damage. The lifestream wanted to change, even when encased in flesh.

"...and this causes mutations at high mako exposure," he ventured, frowning.

"Exactly!" Lucrecia bounced in her seat, clutching the laptop to keep it from slipping from her lap. "After the initial rush, the cells start dying out. This is one of the causes of mako poisoning. We found... something outside of the lifestream--like Jenova or Chaos--is capable of stabilizing that."

"Sure, if ya like havin' an alien talkin' shit in your head all the damn time," Cid muttered.

"Right, no, hindsight and all, I'm... I may never be able to make up for what we did."

Cid grunted, waving his hand dismissively. "Okay, next slide before we fuck off to the pity party."

"Um, okay, so... here's what it looked like right after introducing V Cells, and how it changed throughout the week."

The charts continued to mean nothing to anyone else, but Lucrecia didn't seem offended by their blank stares. She brought up a short time lapse video showing a cluster of cells that shifted and changed over the course of a week, if the timestamp in the corner was to believed. The laptop got passed around so everyone could watch it.

"So what you're seeing is increased cell count and... an influx of much smaller blood cells. Those are the V Cells. Normally, small blood cells would be a problem, but those are in _addition_ to healthy blood cells."

"Why would small blood cells be a problem?" Vincent asked.

"Oh, it usually points to iron deficiency and anemia because the body would have to produce more of them to keep up."

"Hm."

Scratching the side of his jaw, Cid frowned at the video of cells replaying on the screen. Then he passed the laptop back to its owner. "The hell's this mean, Lucy?"

"I'm not exactly sure, to be honest." Lucrecia shrugged as she took the laptop back. "With Jenova, there's the addition of blue cells that change their shapes and attack the host's other blood cells, overtaking them. This... It seems like it might be trying to supplement and make up for the lost cell count from mako poisoning."

Vincent's head spun trying to keep up with all of the jargon. He'd done as much reading as he could on Jenova, Project S, and Project V in an attempt to understand himself, which proved useful later, when his friends needed help understanding Geostigma and what the Remnants intended, but... He was no scientist. He was a trained killer that read voraciously, nothing more.

"What makes you sure it isn't trying to make us less human?"

"I'm not," Lucrecia admitted. "I'd have to do more than draw blood to be able to get a clearer picture of what Hojo and exposure to Chaos has done."

As Vincent went tense, curling his arms against himself, Cid rubbed soothing circles against the side of his knee and down the back of his calf. Lucrecia looked away, focusing on her laptop instead.

Silence reigned until Shera said, "So... what's different now?"

"Oh, um..." Lucrecia sucked on her lip, frowning a little. "Well, at the end of the first week, Cid's blood looked relatively normal. There were smaller blood cells, but they were vastly outnumbered by larger ones, so I assumed it was just... An anomaly or something. They've grown in number."

She presented them with three pictures lined up across the screen, each labeled. The first was Cid's after the first week, the second was Cid's as of that day, and the final one was Vincent's. The latter two looked almost identical.

"So... you're becoming more alike, which might explain the recent developments."

Lucrecia's gaze flicked quickly to the side, towards Shera, then back to Cid and Vincent. She lifted her brows, lips pursed. Vincent shook his head faintly, reaching to nudge at the back of Cid's head to make the other man look at him. Cid squinted up at Vincent, then over at Lucrecia.

"What exactly's going on?" Shera asked. "Is the Captain sick?"

Cid finally seemed to catch on. He rolled to his feet, thumping a fist against his chest. The other hand rested against his hip. "I'm fine, boss lady. Nothin' to worry 'bout, just a biology nerd gettin' excited. Right, Lucy?"

"Right. Sorry, I got a little carried away."

Shera nodded, seeming to accept that. "I thought it was very interesting. Thank you." She slid off of the couch and collected her empty soda bottle. "I should turn in. Early day tomorrow..."

"Good night," Lucrecia and Cid chorused. Vincent said nothing, though he inclined his head.

None of them spoke until they heard the click of Shera's door shutting upstairs.

"Shit." Cid dragged his hands through his hair and down over his face. "She doesn't fuckin' know..."

"I wasn't sure if I should tell her--"

"Not fuckin' right now, for sure. She's got a lotta shit on her plate, there's a new engine outta our competitors and she's puttin' the space program back together and, fuck." Cid began to pace the length of the coffee table, fumbling for a cigarette but not lighting up. "What the hell are we gonna do?"

Lucrecia closed her laptop and stood. "To start, I have to finish analyzing the new sample. Then... Like I said, it will depend on you two how far we go. I'm not..." She bowed her head, shoulders shaking a little. The laptop creaked in her too tight grip.

"We wait." Vincent's voice stopped them both before their anxiety could run rampant, which drew their gazes to him. "Until we know more, there is nothing else to do."

"...Right." Lucrecia blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. "I'll call as soon as the analysis is done."

"Sounds good, Lucy." Cid worked the unlit cigarette between his teeth. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his toes. "Me and Vince oughta head out, let y'all get some rest."

"Okay, um... thanks for... thanks for coming to have dinner with us. I'm glad you're both home."

Cid nodded. "Me too."

Vincent slipped out of the room to escape the soppy farewell process and to evade Lucrecia's penchant for hugging. He pretended not to notice her longing look. After donning his cloak and boots, he let himself outside to wait for Cid.

Several minutes later, Cid came out. Lucrecia locked the door behind him, but didn't turn out the porch light. Cid lingered on the back step, lighting up his cigarette. The orange tip bobbed in the dark, briefly cutting through the shadows cast over his features by the light at his back.

"Oi, I know your manners're better'n that, what the fuck's with leavin' Lucy hangin'?"

"It's not appropriate."

"What?"

"How much she wants to cling to me..."

"Fuck off, Valentine." Cid snorted, blowing out a stream of smoke through his nostrils. "No one's gonna say a damn thing if ya hug your ex. Y'all been through enough shit together..."

"Maybe you should."

The urge to needle and push Cid burned through his veins. Vincent couldn't even claim it was the wine loosening his tongue. One glass wouldn't have been enough when he was human, and now he wasn't certain if _any_ amount would ever be enough.

Cid stepped down, onto the rough gravel path. He gave Vincent a sour look. "One of these fuckin' days, you're gonna get it through your thick skull that I ain't the jealous type."

"Why not?" Vincent walked a little ahead of Cid, then waited for him at the back gate. "What have I done to inspire faith in my fidelity?"

"Ya put that fuckin' lady on a pedestal for thirty years." Cid stopped in front of Vincent. "I think your low ass opinions 'bout yourself are bullshit, but I don't see ya rushin' to expose her to our brand of filth anytime soon..." He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and gestured with it, a streak of orange light between them. "So what the fuck ever. Hug her, cuddle her, read her fuckin' poetry if ya want, you're still gonna come back to me, ‘cuz that's the deal. Just stop fuckin' takin' it for granted that she's back, huh?"

Vincent waited until the cigarette stilled, then caught Cid's wrist. He pulled, guiding the filter to his own lips to steal a drag. The smoke burned on the way down, the nicotine doing little. He held it for a while before exhaling upwards.

"Would you still say that if I admitted to thinking of her inappropriately?"

"Pssht. Ya plannin' on doin' any of it _with_ her?"

They stared at each other for a long time. Vincent still held Cid's wrist. He slid his grip down further and pressed his face against the inside of the wrist, nosing at the veins there.

"No."

"Then I ain't got a problem if ya wanna jerk it to your ex."

"...Classy, Highwind."

" _You're_ the one that brought it up!"

"I am regretting this and every other moment I let myself be sucked into such crass conversation, I assure you."

"Ouch, I thought we had somethin' good, starshine." Cid twisted his arm to slip free of Vincent's grip so that he could take a pull from his cigarette. He bumped the back gate open with his hip and strode out onto the road. "Guess I'll just have to go get that milkshake on my own."

"What a sad date that would be," Vincent murmured, falling into step with Cid. They walked down the road, towards the rest of town.

"Yep. Catch me in the back of that shithole theater jerkin' it to _my_ ex."

"You'll get yourself banned because you don't know how to be quiet..."

"Fuckin'-- is that a challenge, Valentine?"

"Hm." Vincent cast a sidelong look at Cid. "Which movie were you going to pick?"

"Uh." Cid scratched the side of his neck, tipping his head back. "The uh... the stupid one. Extraforce."

"Ah. Perhaps you stand a chance, then, if it has enough explosions..."

"Just the thing a man needs to get off," Cid snickered, "Shit gettin' blown sky high."

They walked on in companionable silence for a while. Not until they stood outside the diner that served milkshakes at all hours did Vincent think to say anything else.

"Is it _really_ okay?"

"What?"

"Thinking about her."

Cid shrugged, not quite meeting Vincent's gaze. "If you're thinkin' 'bout someone else when you're doin' stuff with me, I must not be doin' a good job of it."

"Cid..."

"Shit happens, Vince." Cid flicked the smoldering remains of his cigarette into the ashtray near the diner's door. "Ain't easy gettin' over your past, I know. 'Specially not when it rises from the goddamn grave and will prolly live for-fuckin'-ever."

"You..." Vincent closed his eyes, struggling for the words. "...don't deserve the curse of immortality, but I fear... I may have already inflicted it on you."

"Then I guess I better make sure ya don't get bored with me, huh, starshine."

When Vincent re-opened his eyes, it was to find Cid crowded close, peering up at him with some sharp, hungry look in his icy eyes. Vincent tilted his head down, admired the cocky grin that showed teeth a little too sharp to be human.

"...I never think of anyone but you, Chief." The words came easy for once, his usual reservations lagging behind after a long day of struggling to remain present and aware. "Not outside my nightmares."

The toothy grin grew as Cid reached for him, pulling him down into a kiss that lasted until it made the owner of the diner stick her head out the door to shout at them for blocking potential business.

Cid made a show of looking around at the totally empty street. "What the fuck, Riza, there ain't nobody fuckin' here 'cept us! Shot your own damn ass chasin' your only customers off, ain't nobody else gonna come eat your slop this time of night!"

"Oh, blow it up your ass, Highwind, and get the fuck in here," she shot back. "And keep your damn hands to yourselves, this ain't a brothel."

Spitefully, Cid grabbed Vincent by the hand as they entered. Riza shot them a narrow, dirty look, but she didn't kick them out. Instead, she marched them over to the counter and slapped a menu down in front of them. Then she went off to attend to her other customers--an old guy down at the end of the counter, a single mother with her two younger, fussy children in a corner booth, and a pair of out-of-towners in souvenir shirts from Gongaga.

"I don't believe you will ever require assistance getting banned from anywhere, Chief," Vincent murmured against the shell of Cid's ear.

Cid snorted, grinning. "Got it covered. Ya can just come along for the laughs."

Riza came back a while later and stood across the counter from them with her arms folded. "What'll it be, Captain Fuckface?"

"Ya ever think 'bout hirin' a prettier waitress that ain't got a fuckin' toilet for a mouth, Riza?" Cid pushed the menu across the counter. "Gimme a chocolate shake without the shit in it."

"Exposure to your salty ass'll make anybody quit." Riza turned her glare onto Vincent. "And what's the damn vampire want?"

"Strawberry shake," Vincent answered, staring her down until she stomped away.

Every single visit to the diner went the same. Riza's sour attitude was part of the charm, locals insisted. Of course, hardly any of them ever came in during the late hours she worked... Cid, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on it, grinning like he did when they were in the middle of a good fight. He drummed his fingers against the countertop, beating out a rhythm to the whir of the milkshake machine.

Vincent felt the crawling sensation of being stared at. He shifted on his stool, covertly glancing to the side without turning his head. The old guy paid them no mind. The single mom was busy keeping her noisy kids occupied with a heap of fries and ketchup. That left the out-of-towners.

It was not the right time of the year for tourists. Rocket Town got plenty of visitors all year long, but most of them came for work. The flocks of tourists normally descended on the town during autumn and winter, for hunting and flights to the actual resort towns.

Wordless, Vincent reached out to lay his hand over Cid's, stilling the restless drumbeat of fingers. When he had Cid's attention, he tapped his claw against the counter. One short, two long. One short, one long. _Watched,_ he tapped out, feigning an interest in the menu on the wall.

Cid turned his palm up, gripping Vincent's hand. He leaned close, humming some old tune that took Vincent a moment to place. Something jokey about secret agents. If not for the tightness around Cid's eyes, Vincent would have thought he was being dismissed and teased.

"Don't start makin' out in my diner, ya damn idiots," Riza barked, slamming their milkshakes down in front of them. "Enjoy and get the hell out."

"Oh, we ain't gotta fuckin' pay for this trash?"

As Riza marched off, she called over her shoulder, "Ya damn well better, or I'm callin' the cops!"

Soon after, the jangle of the door's bell announced someone's departure--or arrival. Vincent made another surreptitious check, but the people he could see without being obvious were still there.

Cid let go of Vincent and grabbed his milkshake. He spun around on his stool, planting his elbows against the counter behind him, and slurped noisily at the drink. The tap of his fingers against the frosted glass told Vincent that the tourists were gone.

Sure enough, when he looked back over his shoulder, the only sign there'd ever been any out-of-towners at all was a small stack of gil sitting between the remains of their dinner. The whole thing felt off. Staged for them to notice it. And so soon after Cid's first transformation, triggered by the scent of trespassers in his workshop...

Vincent did not believe in coincidences.


	9. supposed to match

"Should we head back?" Cid asked. He had twisted around in his seat again, bracing his elbows on the countertop.

Vincent took a long, thoughtful sip of his milkshake. The creamy texture of the sweet and tart treat filled his mouth, a pleasing counterpoint to the tangled jumble of his thoughts.

The drive to rush home, to defend their territory, simmered through his veins. Beneath the soothing chill of ice cream, he could feel the fire beginning to build. Vincent fought against it with each slow breath.

"Is everything of value in our vault?"

"Yeah, s'far as I know."

"Hm."

A better alternative lay before him, then. One with less risk of setting off unwanted transformations for either of them. He could simply wait and let their extensive system of locks, alarms, and traps capture the rats that thought they could skulk around without repercussion. In doing so, he could continue to enjoy his night out.

"So?"

"I see no reason to interrupt our date."

Cid leaned into his space, pressing a scruffy cheek against his shoulder. Vincent looked sidelong at him. He knew what was coming next but made no move to stop it. With a cheeky grin, Cid sat forward, catching the straw to Vincent's shake between his teeth. His eyelids slid shut as he savored his stolen slurp. Then he sat upright, licking his lips, which curved in a very self-satisfied smile.

Vincent cast a glance around, but did not see Riza anywhere. Fast enough that Cid couldn't possibly duck out of the way, he snagged the other man by the short blond hairs at the base of his skull.

"Hey--!"

"That's mine," Vincent said, right before yanking Cid forward.

He licked into Cid's mouth, chasing down the taste of his milkshake. Cid moaned, low in his throat, and kissed back eagerly. There came a murmur of consternation from down the counter, which took Vincent a moment to recognize not as disgust but warning. He broke away from Cid with reluctance, pressing the back of his metal hand against Cid's broad chest to gently push him back.

Riza came stomping stiff-legged from the kitchen not a moment later. She glowered around, suspiciously, before settling on Cid. "The hell's that goggle-eyed look for? No damn way the milkshake's that good."

"Iunno, seems pretty fuckin' good to me!" Cid shot back, while grinning at Vincent.

"Then finish the damn thing and get the hell out."

Cid flipped her off, but bent to drink from his milkshake. Under Riza's narrow-eyed stare, Vincent did the same. She soon paced off to attend to the mother and her children. Vincent looked down the length of the counter at the old guy, who lifted his coffee mug in a silent salute. It seemed appropriate to nod back.

When they finished their drinks, Cid dropped a handful of gil on the counter. Vincent rose from his seat and left the diner first, but kept the door open with the toe of his boot until Cid joined him. Then he backed out of the light spilling from the diner's windows, allowing the door to shut with a clamor from the bell.

Cid stayed in the light, producing cigarette and lighter. He didn't follow Vincent until he'd lit up and had his first drag. "Still good with seein' a movie?"

"Mhm."

They walked together, shoulder-to-shoulder, further down the street. The local theater was at the end of Main, nestled between a family owned grocery store and a used bookstore Vincent sometimes haunted. The flickering glow of its neon sign shone so bright that even without enhanced sight, one could have read a book on the other side of the street. Vincent squinted his eyes against the glare, following the sound of Cid’s footsteps.

Cid slowed to lift his foot. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette out on the sole of his boot, then flicked it into the ashtray outside of the theater. As Vincent moved on, slinking into the shadows outside the doors to wait, Cid sidled up to the ticket booth to pay.

The well-worn posters on display on either side of the doors showed advertisements for the concessions, as well as the night's movies. Vincent's gaze lingered on the one for Rising Tide, which he recognized. It came out a few months into Lucrecia's pregnancy...

Nibelheim did not have a theater back then. Even now, the little town hadn't yet come around to the idea of the arts.

Thirty years ago, if the science team wanted entertainment, they had to send for it and wait for ShinRa's biweekly shipments. Lucrecia was a voracious movie watcher and always had a list ready. As the head of security, it fell to Vincent to approve all non-essential requests. He was _supposed_ to review the contents of things like movies, but, really, if Lucy wanted something, he wasn't about to say no.

They watched it together, cuddled up beneath two blankets. Snow fell fat and thick outside, casting the room in a bright, washed out grey light. Hojo and Gast went up to the Reactor for some reason or another, leaving Vincent to attend to Lucrecia.

And attend he did.

"Ya havin' second thoughts 'bout lettin' me pick?" Cid asked, jostling up against Vincent's side. "Wanna switch to the soppy shit?"

Vincent blinked away the memories of an amorous snowy afternoon, then shook his head. "I've seen it already."

"Any good?"

"...I don't remember much of it."

"Preoccupied, Valentine?"

"As a matter of fact, I was."

Cid hooted as he yanked the door open, holding it to let Vincent enter first. "Fuckin' _no one_ is gonna believe the great Vincent Valentine's modus operandi is this damn mundane. Makin' out in the back of movie theaters, ha!"

"I'm trusting you to safeguard my reputation, Highwind."

Snickering, Cid bumped their shoulders up together. "Sure, starshine."

Then he crossed the short lobby, approaching the concession stand. Its countertop was ancient wood, worn down to a high sheen from years of polishing. The popcorn machine had to be from the 50s. Even the menu in the back, with its little black slide-on letters, looked years out of date. The walls everywhere else were covered in kitschy knick knacks from the last hundred years or so. The whole place was clean though, with nary a moldy carpet or moth-eaten curtain in sight.

"Hello, Captain, Mr. Valentine!" the teen behind the counter said brightly. It took Vincent a minute to remember her name—Clarissa. Her grandfather owned the theater. As usual, she had a stack of homework on one of corner of the counter. "Good to see you two are back in town. What can I get you?"

"Soda, medium popcorn. Ya want anything, Vince?"

"Water." Vincent eyed the candy display, then the selection of chips beneath it. "...Jalapeno chips."

"Eugh," Cid muttered. "Gimme some mint gum, too, no fuckin' way am I gettin' a mouthful of _that_."

Clarissa tittered with embarrassment as she scooped the popcorn into a striped cardboard container. "Um, it'll be 450 gil," she said, piling everything in front of Cid.

"Y'all undercuttin' yourselves again?"

The girl shrugged. "Grandpa don't believe me when I say theaters're _supposed_ to make their money off the concessions now..."

"Pssht, fuck that." Cid dropped a fair bit more than asked for into Clarissa's waiting hands. "Ya hear back from them schools yet?"

"Just one, in Junon!" Clarissa stowed the money in the cash register, which dinged when she slammed the drawer shut. "I'm giving the others another month."

"If ya need me to go put in a few choice words, yanno whereabouts I am."

"Sure, Captain. Enjoy your movie!"

"Thanks, hon."

While they exchanged pleasantries, Vincent had retrieved his empty soda cup and lid and gone to fill up at the fountain. Cid brought the rest over, shoving the snacks into Vincent's arms so he could get his own soda.

In the background, a family with three noisy teenagers came piling in. The youths all seemed to know Clarissa and spent an inordinate amount of time chatting about the local game that must have happened recently.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to adopt her yet," Vincent murmured, watching Cid fill his cup almost to the brim with ice.

"She's a good kid." Cid shook his cup as he inspected the soda choices, making the ice rattle and settle more evenly. "Got a head for math and tech, prolly do some real fuckin' good to take up at Highwind Enterprises or somethin'."

"Mhm."

In the end, Cid did what he always did, which was to make a horrible syrupy monstrosity out of every single flavor of soda. Vincent wrinkled his nose in distaste. Cid flashed a grin at him and reclaimed his popcorn.

"C'mon, starshine, I get the feelin' we might hafta hurry to get the good seats."

As the theater was old--retro, as the saying went--many of the seats were less than favorable for actually _sitting_ in. Some of them leaned or sank strangely, others smelled peculiar to enhanced noses, and some needed reupholstering twenty years ago.

He and Cid walked down the short hall to theater 3 and entered the dimly lit room. As Vincent recalled, their preferred seats in 3 were on the far right, one seat from the back wall. To his relief, no one had beaten them to said seats, and Cid made a beeline for them. Cid made a check for spills and other unpleasant surprises before plopping into his chair. Vincent perched carefully next to him, rearranging his cloak so as to not be sitting on it.

The movie screen showed dimly flickering advertisements for local businesses with low volume. Because the owner of the theater had begun to go deaf several years ago, he made a big push for everything he showed to come with its own captions. Vincent found it much preferable to having ads blasting annoying jingles at volumes meant for normal ears.

Cid kicked his feet up, propping them on the back of the seat in front of him. He set his drink into the cupholder at his right, and shoved the chair arm on his left out of the way so that there were no barriers between them.

"So, feelin' any better?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Apparently unbothered by the gap between their seats, Cid shifted over to invade Vincent’s space to recline against his side. This limited Vincent’s ability to move his arm. In retaliation, Vincent stole some of Cid’s popcorn, spearing kernels on brassy claws. It was just short of being _too_ salty and buttery.

“So damn rude,” Cid said, without any real heat. “Got your own damn snack…”

Vincent shifted, draping his arm over Cid’s shoulders. “Food tastes best when stolen.”

“Hangin’ out with Yuffie too much.”

“Reeve thinks we work well together. Not certain what gave him that idea.”

“Hah! Iunno, Vince, couldn't be that y’all’re good for each other or nothin’.”

“Never that.”

For the next ten minutes or so, commercials continued to play. Cid snacked on most of his popcorn and his drink, then took a bathroom break. Vincent found the jalapeno chips to be disappointingly lacking, with barely any spice.

A few more people wandered into the theater to take seats further down, including the family with teenagers. No more than ten people total, including himself and Cid, were there for the show. None of them sat near anyone else, as though observing a sacred, unspoken agreement to not risk any unwanted socializing with strangers during a late night showing of forgettable B movies.

Cid came back just as the lights went down. He settled against Vincent’s side again, getting quite comfortable under Vincent’s arm and cape.

The movie began with gratuitous amounts of explosions and a catchy pop song. From there, it was nonstop, senseless action, littered with cheesy one-liners and excuses to ogle people in revealing clothing. Vincent couldn't follow the weak plot through its attempts at twists and turns, largely because his attention strayed. He kept looking down in quiet, grateful awe at the man comfortably cuddled up against his side. Cid looked like he was having as much a blast as the protagonist of the movie.

“Somethin’ on my face?” Cid asked.

“No more than usual.”

“Ha.” Cid swiped his hand over his face, paying extra attention to the scruff along his jaw. “Gimme one of them pieces of gum.”

Vincent fished the package of gum out of a hidden pocket and passed it over. He did not object when Cid shoved a piece up under his nose. Holding Cid’s gaze, he opened his mouth and bent to take it. Flicked his tongue out against rough fingertips in the process, too.

“...Playin’ damn dirty.”

“I would never.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right! Ya a real saint.”

“Mhm.” Vincent chewed thoughtfully, turning his face towards the movie screen, as if he had any interest at all in the explosive goings on.

Cid let him be for a minute or two, which was about when the limited flavor of the gum began to diminish. A nudge of elbow against his side alerted him to attempts to get his attention otherwise muffled by an impressive five minute long explosion. Cid held a gum wrapper up, which Vincent took to spit his gum into. The trash got dropped into Cid’s empty popcorn container.

They did not pay much attention to the rest of the movie, as Cid seized the opportunity to find out if they were too old to make out in the back of a theater.


	10. nsfw - nothing but ego

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> optional NSFW chapter, can be skipped and nothing of value will be missed.
> 
> warnings: kink negotiations, safe words for safe words, deep throat / face fuck, asphyxiation, masochism, masturbation, unsanitary clean up methods (or a lack thereof)

They got back to the house late enough that the sky began to lighten. Cid dragged Vincent inside by his cloak and yanked him down to kiss him senseless. Somehow or another, they managed to stumble upstairs, to Cid's room. With Cid's help, he stripped down to pants and shirt, though he wasn't quite sure where everything went between one kiss and the next. The edge of the mattress sank under their combined weight.

Vincent broke the latest kiss. He pulled back and turned his face away when Cid tried to chase him down for more. Swollen, wet lips slid against his cheek, rough stubble scratching. He hummed, eyelashes fluttering down, and leaned forward to nose at the line of Cid's jaw where it met his ear.

"Use me," Vincent whispered, asking for whatever Cid could give him.

It was Cid's turn to pull away. Blue eyes like ice blinked at Vincent, the haze of lust abating some as the ice became razor sharp. "How?"

In answer, Vincent caught one of Cid's hands, bringing it up to his his mouth. He kissed the pad of one finger, then swiped his tongue against it. The slight tang of salt pleased him. As he sucked the finger into his mouth, all the way to the knuckle, he met Cid's gaze.

"Oh." Pupils dilated as Cid watched, licking his own lips. "Can I..." He swallowed and pulled his hand away with a frown as he worked his jaw side to side. "Pin ya? Or do ya want somethin' else?"

Vincent hummed low in his throat, giving it due consideration. "Whatever you like," he eventually decided. "You always stop when I ask."

"'Course!" Cid cradled Vincent's face in his hands, running his thumbs over cheekbones. "I wanna pin your wrists up, so I'll see your hands, okay?"

Leaning into the gentle touch, eyelids sliding half-shut, Vincent exhaled. The tension drained from him as he surrendered to Cid's care. "Mhm. Show me."

Cid kissed him on the forehead before releasing him. He scooted to the side, shoving pillows off the edge of the bed, then patted the empty space. "Lie flat on your back, gimme plenty of room up top."

Before he laid down, Vincent gathered his hair up so he wouldn't lay on it. He let it drape up over the mattress, pooling against the headboard. At Cid's nudging, he scooted further down, making more room between himself and the headboard. Enough that his arms, bent at a forty-five degree angle, could be laid with the wrists parallel to his head. Vincent looked from metal to flesh wrist, then up at Cid, who kneeled on the mattress beside him.

"Satisfactory?"

"Yep. Show me the signs?"

Unable to completely repress the curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth, Vincent snapped the forefinger and middle finger of his flesh hand against his thumb. Then he made a fist with pinky and forefinger extended, twisting it side to side. Last, he made a hook with his forefinger and bobbed it.

 _No, yellow, need._ If they were doing something where they could both speak, he would have recited, _stop, time,_ and _haste_.

"'Kay, good. Ya wanna take anything off?"

Vincent glanced down his body, at the dark clothing that covered him from the jaw down. He lacked belts, cape, and boots. The stolen goggles were rolled up in his cape on top of the dresser. His gun and holster sat on the bedside table still, the keychain dangling off the edge.

The first time they'd done anything like this, he made a mess of his pants. Admittedly because they hadn't seen each other in several weeks, but all the same, the shame and discomfort dampened an otherwise enjoyable night. At least Cid never doubted his ability to derive satisfaction from pain again and loosened up on trying new things...

Vincent shifted, lifting his hips. "Pants. Not far."

Nodding, Cid undid the fastenings. He pulled them down just far enough to leave Vincent exposed and no further. Not even halfway down his thighs. It didn't stop Cid from scraping blunt nails against his favorite patch of skin, one of the only places without scarring, there on the inside of Vincent's thigh. Vincent arched, hissing, as blood pooled low in his gut. His earlier arousal had gone soft, but it wouldn't take too much to bring it back.

"All good, starshine?" Cid asked, with a cheeky grin.

"Yesss."

Cid got off the bed to strip. He shed everything but the dog tags. Even the pink ribbon got removed, set carefully on the table with Vincent's gun. Then he crawled back onto the bed, straddling Vincent's middle without putting his weight down.

They looked at each other for a moment, as if sizing up before a battle.

Vincent's gaze dropped to the scarring on Cid's chest, shiny and taut and hairless. Years after the fact and he still struggled with the guilt of knowing he was the cause. The years could fly right by and he'd still loathe himself for it. The heated want began to dwindle, his stomach souring.

"Hey." Cid's voice was pitched low and gentle. Warm, calloused fingers rubbed underneath Vincent's chin and up over his cheeks, urging him to look up. "Stay here with me."

"...Sorry."

Vincent reached, meaning to find the pulse point of Cid's neck, but Cid caught him by the wrist and dragged his hand down, pushing it against the scarring. He didn't let go until he was certain Vincent wouldn't recoil. The heartbeat beneath thundered as strong as ever. Vincent marveled at his ability to be so shameless and so forgiving. The only complaint Cid ever made about his scar was that his chest hair wouldn't grow back.

"Ya still wanna do this?"

Letting his hand drop away, Vincent closed his eyes. He sucked in a breath, then nodded. "Yes." On re-opening his eyes, he returned his wrist to where it belonged on the bed, palm upturned. "Please."

Before he did anything else, Cid bent to kiss Vincent. Chaste at first, until Vincent opened his mouth to invite more. Cid kept it too tender, too slow, and when Vincent nipped at him in protest, he pulled away, licking his lips with a lukewarm glare.

"Settle your tits, Valentine."

"I'm as settled as I'm like to get," Vincent retorted.

"Uh-huh."

Cid took himself in hand, idly stroking and squeezing the soft flesh until it began to swell. He scooted further up the mattress until his knees pressed under Vincent's arms. The close up view combined with the heady aroma of arousal, sweat, and _Cid_ made Vincent's mouth water. His lips parted as he ran his tongue against the back of his lower lip.

Frustratingly, Cid remained out of reach.

"Cid..."

With a low, pleased hum, Cid worked his fist from root to tip, palming the end. He let himself go after that, almost fully erect and bobbing with every panted breath. Vincent couldn't take his eyes off the long dribble of viscous precum that dangled down.

"My eyes are up here, darlin'," Cid teased.

Reluctant, Vincent met Cid's gaze. "Very pretty, Highwind. Give me what I want."

Instead, Cid dragged his fingers over his slit, gathering precum on two fingers, and brought them to Vincent's lips. Vincent lapped at them hungrily all the same, never once breaking eye contact as he did it. Cid groaned, his already flushed face darkening further.

He did not tease any more. Fingers withdrew part way, then hooked over Vincent's teeth, forcing his mouth open wider. Vincent felt a vicious surge of triumph like a flash of fire deep in his chest as Cid finally, _finally_ rolled forward on his knees. The fingers holding his mouth open dropped away as Cid pushed the head of his cock in. 

Cid laid his hands over Vincent's wrists, pinning them to the bed. Vincent barely noticed, too occupied with running his tongue against the underside of Cid's cock, lapping up every trace of salt.

"Fuuuck."

With a shiver, Cid pressed in further. Vincent let his jaw go slack to accommodate him with an appreciative hum. The weight and size of Cid was heady, sending sparks of anticipation down his spine. Soon, Vincent's mouth was too full to suck, his jaw twinging a little to be forced so wide open, and the head nudged at the back of his throat. His gag reflex was long gone, perhaps burned away by Galian's fire. Blond curls tickled at his nose, though not for long as Cid pulled halfway back out.

Cid's thumb swiped against his palm, then tapped to get his attention. Vincent shifted his head back to look up.

"Ready?"

The affirmative, forcefully impatient hum made Cid's hips buck a little, made his mouth fall open. Vincent couldn't repress the snort of amusement, his breath ghosting over the length not in his mouth. Cid's hands tightened around his wrists as warning.

Then he rolled his hips down, fucking into Vincent's mouth. Slow at first, letting Vincent get used to it or trying to coat his cock in ample saliva or both. He didn't thrust all the way in, didn't give Vincent the satisfaction yet, but a slow build was a different kind of delicious torture. Vincent groaned in protest. He struggled to breathe evenly through his nose, though the more Cid played with him, the faster his breathing became.

Sparks fluttered against the inside of his rib cage. Prickles of pleasure crept down his spine, lighting every nerve up. His erection lay heavily against his belly, neglected in the cool air. He was dizzy with want, swelteringly hot in all his clothes, and had no means of release with Cid holding him down.

 _Need, need, need,_ he signed, begging for more.

"Shit, starshine," Cid wheezed, "You're so fuckin’--" He trailed off with a groan, thrusting all the way in.

Despite the sharp ache in the back of his throat, Vincent swallowed around him, moaned as Cid pulled out only a few inches before shoving back. Quick, hard thrusts that hurt so _good_ and never gave Vincent the chance to breathe. Just the way he needed it.

With his vision darkening, spots dancing in front of his eyes, Vincent sank into thoughtless bliss.

Cid pulled out roughly. The sudden absence jolted Vincent out of his fugue. He sucked down a ragged breath that burned the whole way down. A clumsy hand, rough with callus, fumbled at his erection, shaking and pulling a little awkwardly. His orgasm hit a moment later, making him arch under the flood of euphoria, his fingers grasping for purchase but finding nothing.

Meanwhile, Cid sank back onto Vincent's chest, forcing the air out of his lungs again. Through the dizzying roar of blood rushing through his ears, he was distantly aware of Cid gasping curses. He watched, unfocused and bleary, as Cid jerked himself off the rest of the way. Cid came messily between them, unable to do much more than wheeze as he did it.

With trembling fingers, Vincent scooped up some of the cum from his shirt and brought it to his mouth. His nose wrinkled a little at the tang, but he did not spit it back out. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the jitters of afterglow.

Cid pushed himself off of Vincent, then laughed, breathless. "Damn, guess I don't gotta worry 'bout ya none..." He flopped down, boneless, next to Vincent. "Ya wanna smoke?"

"Hm-mm."

But for the shift of the mattress as Cid leaned to grab his pants, the rasp of lighter and the following smell of smoke, and the weight of a too hot, sweaty body settling against his side, Vincent basked undisturbed. He dozed, not even minding the mess they'd made. His throat stung with every breath, burned when he swallowed, but he no longer felt untethered.

Sleep came easy that night, for once without dreams of any kind.


	11. darkness that you felt

The blare of an alarm woke Vincent. Before he even opened his eyes, he closed his fingers around the grip of his gun. He rolled out of bed, his focus narrowing to the fine point of battle readiness that dropped everything unimportant to a muted buzz. He was distantly aware of his sore throat and that his pants weren't quite done up right. Even the territorial cry for blood simmering low in his gut was a vague afterthought.

Behind him, Cid tumbled out of the bed with a curse. Then came growling that didn't stay human for long.

As much as Vincent wanted to chase down the trespassers then and there, he turned back to Cid first. He put his metal claws against the other man's chest, stilling him, and met blue eyes beginning to give away to the slit-pupils of a beast.

"Steady, Chief." Vincent's voice was low and hoarse. "Maybe sit this one out."

Gnashing sharp teeth, Cid snarled. "Fuck--" He shook his head, as if he could physically throw off the transformation. "Gotta fuckin'-- they're _here_ , messin' with our shit--"

"I'll take care of it."

They stared each other down for a second. Then Cid grunted, jerking his chin towards the door. He paced away to sit heavily on the edge of the bed, gripping his knees with clawed fingertips. An impressive display of control, but it was unlikely he could maintain it forever.

"Don't kill 'em."

"...As you wish."

Cid gave him a knowing look, lip curled on one side to show sharp teeth. That look said, _I know you were going to._

Vincent inclined his head, not denying the silent accusation in the least. After all, Vincent had been a monster long before he began to change his physical shape. The Turks didn't hire gentle hearts, though the modern Turks were a great deal less subtle about it than his heyday.

He left the bedroom with his gun lifted so that the barrel pointed at the ceiling. Halfway down the hall, he paused to zip his pants properly, and frowned over the stains on his shirt that he could do nothing about. Then he glided down the stairs on bare feet, making not a sound. The Cerberus charm swayed with each step, glinting in the cheerful morning light cast through windows.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the alarm died with one last dwindling warble. Vincent rounded the corner and came to a stop behind a person in a mix of grey and black clothing, all of it ratty-looking. A black skull cap and bandana disguised their features, though Vincent couldn't see their face from his position anyway. They had an assault rifle hanging loosely against their hip.

Wordless, Vincent lowered the gun, taking aim at the back of their knee. He fired once, disintegrating flesh and bone in a spray of blood. The person went down screaming.

He stepped over them without pausing. His silhouette filled the doorway of the basement, shadow cast down the steps. Two more people struggled back up the stairs, carrying a friend afflicted with Stop. They froze on seeing him, but never stood a chance of reacting. Two more shots and the whole lot of them tumbled back down the stairs in a bloody heap, still alive and regretting it.

The lock on the basement door had been cut through with a welding torch. Vincent shut the door anyway, then activated a Firaga to further melt the metal in place. If anyone else was downstairs, they could stay there until he was ready to deal with them.

He turned back and bent to pluck the assault rifle from the shaky grip of the idiot on the floor. It was one of the lightweight, mass-produced chunks of plastic favored by modern armies. Vincent slung it over his own shoulder with some distaste, then headed for the front door.

Outside, he saw two heavy duty buggies parked haphazardly. They left deep furrows in the ground behind them, and in the distance, he could just make out the collapsed shape of the front gates. The invaders certainly hadn't learned to knock.

More screaming off to the side, near the chocobo corral, drew his attention. Vincent turned that way, head tilted, and spotted the She Devil strutting outside her enclosure. One person lay in a bloody heap nearby, and another attempted to crawl away. From the looks of it, one of the buggies must have crashed into the fence, leaving a gap for the chocobo to escape. Vincent smirked.

He crossed the yard and hopped up onto the hood of one of the buggies to peer through the tinted windshield. A frightened person stared back with glowing eyes, clutching at the steering wheel. He tapped his claws against the glass slowly, well aware what a fright he must look, with his mussed hair, red eyes, gauntlet, and gun the size of a small cannon. They ducked down, but did not start the engine up, nor did they spring back up with a weapon.

Vincent stood and walked up the windshield and along the roof of the buggie. He spotted the top of someone's head along the left side of the buggie, a poor attempt at hiding and sneaking up on him. Stopping, he waited until they cautiously leaned up to look for him. Then he fired. The trio of bullets smashed through their shoulder and sent them spinning. They did not get back up, though the choked off gasps they made assured him that he hadn't killed them.

He dropped down next to them and bent to collect their gun. It was the same as the first, but with a fuller clip. Sighing, he added it to his shoulder. Useless trash, but perhaps the WRO could recycle them.

His preoccupation cost him.

There came a scrape of gravel beneath the buggie, then someone small crawled out to jab at his bare ankle with something small and black and crackling with blue sparks.

Vincent's whole body seized, vision darkening at the edges. Electricity coursed through his nerves, locking his body up. He lost his grip on his gun and fell forward, smacking face first into the ground. Sharp gravel dug into his cheek, a painful counterpoint to the continuous flow of agony that came again and again as his attacker kept jabbing him every time he so much as twitched. He choked on his tongue, struggling to try and breathe. 

Consciousness began to slip from his grasp. With the howl of the beast reverberating through his skull, he sank into a black fog of confusion and pain, not quite unconscious but not quite awake. As though from far away, he heard the murmur of strange voices talking over him. Felt the impact of a boot slammed into his side, rolling him over.

And then: a rising snarl that was not Galian Beast, but something else. It echoed across the property, followed by the crash of thunder.

His tormentors scattered, shouting. Interspersed with the roar of the new beast came the crack of gunfire. Vincent lay prone, sucking down ragged breaths. He could not seem to open his eyes, nor twitch even a finger.

 _Don't kill them,_ Vincent thought, inanely.

Little by little, the sounds of fighting died down until all that remained was the incessant bleating of the wounded. An eternity or a moment later, something big and reeking of ozone crunched across the gravel, coming closer. A shadow fell over Vincent. With a great amount of effort, he finally cracked one bleary eye open to stare up at the silvery shape looming over him.

The blazing glow of blue eyes came closer. Vincent thought it would be a fitting fate to meet his end in the dirt at the hands of a lover he twisted into a monstrous shape.

Warm breath puffed against his temple, stirring his hair. Then a wet tongue lapped out, swiping bloodied gravel from his skin. Vincent groaned quietly, unable to voice his protest any other way. In answer, he felt a hot snort that expelled charming splatters of snot into his hair.

Had that been all, Vincent would have remained where he was until he recovered naturally. He heard the thump of booted feet sprinting across one of the buggies, followed by gunfire. Above him, the silver-scaled beast snarled and staggered, hot red blood pouring from new wounds.

Vincent let himself go, embracing the blaze of hellfire that poured up from his throat. Agony far greater than the shock of a taser tore through him. Blood and bones and flesh and muscles ripped apart beneath the onslaught of dark purple energy that kicked the gravel up, pinging it off of the buggies’ metal siding. With crunching, squelching noises, his body rearranged itself beneath a heavy mantle of fur.

Galian Beast threw off the numb shackles of electricity, rearing on his hind legs to toss his head back in a howl. Bursts of fire exploded all around him, melting the next wave of bullets before they could reach their intended target.

He climbed up the side of one buggie, his claws tearing through the metal like paper. His attacker fired wildly, then turned and ran. They jumped off the hood of the buggie, rolled, and came up on their feet to run across the yard. He gave chase, sprinting on all fours. Behind him, he heard the other beast growl and clamber up onto the buggie to follow.

Together, they sprang off of the buggie and slammed into the human. Their scream cut off with a gurgle when Galian sank his teeth into their neck, ripping through the black cloth that covered jugular. Blood sprayed across the ground. Beside him, the other beast tore its claws through a soft belly, upending steaming innards onto the dirt.

_Don’t kill any--_

Galian let the corpse go, sinking back on his haunches. He pawed at his bloodied muzzle, as though to wipe away the evidence. Too late now.

He watched the other beast pace away, watched it watching him. No more attackers came from seemingly nowhere. All fell quiet but for the annoying squeal of things not yet dead. Something big and yellow moved at the peripheral of Galian’s vision. He jerked his head that away, a growl rising and dying in the back of his throat.

_Don’t kill--_

The silver beast saw it too, and started that way with a snarl that did not quiet with recognition. The big, fat, stupid bird fluffed up, lowering itself for a charge.

_Don’t--_

Galian threw himself at the other beast’s side. They went down snarling and snapping, rolling across the dirt. Thrashing, kicking, biting, struggling to come out on top. Somehow or another, Galian managed to sink his teeth into the meat of a scaled shoulder where it met neck. He grunted at the impact of feet kicking him in the gut and let go. They rolled some more, biting onto whatever they could but never able to hold on.

Success came when Galian threw his head at the right time, pinning the other beast between his horns. He lunged to sink his teeth into the exposed underside of neck in front of him. The fight ended with the other beast going limp beneath him.

A haze of instincts washed over him, hot and needy. He forced the other beast onto its belly, head down to the dirt and rear up.

The chocobo let out a scream and came barreling up. It kicked out, separating the two beasts. Galian tumbled away and rolled to his feet in an upsurge of purple energy. The beast’s shape sloughed away, sinking down and twisting back in on itself to become a man again.

Vincent panted harshly, the horror of what he’d almost done rushing down his back in a cold chill simultaneous to the rising bile in the back of his throat. He barely registered the flash of huge talons coming at him as he frayed apart and flowed away like smoke.

The She Devil shot past and went down in an undignified heap, squawking.

As the chocobo struggled back to her feet, Vincent became solid again, just behind Cid’s monster form. He laid both hands on the scaled back, as though he could physically force Cid to change. The silver beast seemed befuddled; behind the glow, its eyes were glassy as it stared at Vincent.

“Chief…”

Blue eyes blinked slowly. The beast made a low, confused rumble deep in its chest. Then came the whirl of dark blue energy streaked with mako green and Cid, too, came back to himself.

He slumped back against Vincent, but did not lose consciousness. His skin and hair were sweat-soaked. He bled profusely from the bullet holes in his lower back, the bite marks on his neck and shoulders, and numerous scratches all over. Despite that, his second transformation seemed to have gone better than the first. He'd even managed to keep his briefs in tact, so he wasn't sitting naked in the dirt.

"Ow," Cid said.

"Cid, I--"

"What was-- We didn't--? Never fuckin' mind, starshine."

"...Alright."

It was at that point that the She Devil not only regained her footing but paced back far enough that she could rush at them.

Vincent nudged Cid until he was sitting forward on his own, then scooted forward to meet the charge. At the last second, Vincent surged up, parting like smoke to avoid the downward swing of talon. He resolidified to grab the She Devil by the throat, right under the jaw. Her cry choked off as he yanked, forcing her down to the ground. She thrashed about, so he caught one of her legs in his claws and applied pressure until she got the hint that lying still would be preferable.

"Hey--" Cid shifted gingerly around to glower, its effect greatly weakened by the haze of pain. "Be a lil fuckin' gentle, wouldja?"

"As gentle as she deserves."

Vincent wished he had some sort of cloth to drape over her head. Chocobos weren't chickens, but like all birds, the absence of daylight seemed to calm them down. As it was, the She Devil's eyes rolled in their sockets and occasionally she tensed and gave a test kick to see if she could get away or not.

"Gotta let her up eventually, Valentine."

"Not if she's going to hurt you," Vincent retorted. He glanced around, his gaze settling on the corpse nearby. "Do they have materia?"

Cid clutched at his side, fingertips just short of the bullet holes on his back, and crawled towards he corpse. He made a quiet noise of disgust over the cooling innards that lay outside of their customary place. Nevertheless, he made a thorough check of the body.

"...This is some kinda fucked up, ain't even properly..." Cid's voice trailed off as he raised the jagged chunks of crystal embedded in a small leather belt up. The sunlight winked off the brittle edges. Inside, the trapped energy pulsed and flickered. "...Shit."

"Give it here, Cid."

"This shit's--"

" _Cid,_ " Vincent said, over the She Devil's noisy growling squawk as she made another bid for freedom and failed.

Cid shot Vincent a narrow, almost sulky look, but tossed the belt over. Vincent caught it with his claw, then quickly brought it down to pin the chocobo's legs. He frowned over the crystals, concentrating...

Most people would have to actually _use_ materia to identify it. Some, like Yuffie, could tell at a glance, though they wouldn't be able to explain what made them so certain. Vincent, being the avatar of Chaos, could sense it. The flow of natural lifestream all around him, the buzz of self-contained lifestream within every living organism around him, and the discordant, not-quite-right buzz of energy within the chunks of materia.

What he had in his hand was something resembling Lightning, Time, and Seal, none of them very strong and all of them risky to use. Vincent could understand Cid's reluctance. The alternative, however... He applied a little more force to the She Devil's neck until her angry squawking died off and she stopped fighting so hard.

"Vince--"

"Shh."

"-- _don't _."__

__While the She Devil lay too dazed to take advantage of her relative freedom, Vincent plucked the unwanted pieces out of the belt and flicked them towards the corpse. Then he focused on the Seal materia, trying to activate it with a small, steady flow of energy to avoid the high risk of it blowing up in his face._ _

__The shimmering yellow lights of Sleepel drifted down onto the She Devil's face. She let out one last gurgle before dropping unconscious. Her great, fluffy body worked like slow-moving bellows, breathing only a little hindered by the bruising on her neck._ _

__In Vincent's hand, the chunk of materia began to vibrate. He felt the oncoming backfire building up. Drawing his arm back, he flung the belt upwards and away from the house as hard as he could. The belt flapped through the air, spinning, and then, with a muted bang, the materia exploded into a fine dust that glittered as it drifted slowly down._ _

__"Fuck!" Cid made a grab at Vincent and caught the loose fold of his pants near his knee. He tugged, insistently. "You're a real bastard, yanno that?!"_ _

__"Yes." Vincent scooted closer, if only so that Cid would stop jostling himself. "You're still bleeding, stop--"_ _

__"So the fuck're ya."_ _

__With a blink, Vincent looked down at himself. His black clothes did not show blood well, and until that moment, he hadn't really been thinking of himself at all. However, now that he paid attention, he did feel the sting of deep gashes on his arm, his torso, even his legs. Blood oozed inside his shirt unpleasantly._ _

__"Hn."_ _

__"Yeah, so, let's fuckin'..." Cid waved his hand in a vague, broad gesture towards the house._ _

__"Alright.”_ _

__It took them awhile, with lots of leaning on one another and a fair bit of stumbling, but they managed to get inside the house eventually. They crab-shuffled past the softly gasping, unconscious body laying in front of the basement door and all but collapsed into the chairs in the kitchen. The aftermath of adrenaline draining away left Vincent feeling dull and cold, and he knew there'd be no chance of sleeping it off any time soon._ _

__He gave himself exactly one minute to rest. Beside him, Cid slumped down, resting his forehead against the kitchen table._ _

__"Hell of a mornin'."_ _

__"Ha."_ _

__Reluctantly, Vincent got up to retrieve the first aid kit and a handful of clean rags from under the kitchen sink. He set them on the kitchen table. Cid lifted his head to stare at them, uncomprehendingly. Vincent pushed his foot against the leg of Cid's chair, scooting it out further from the table. The wood scraped off the kitchen tile._ _

__"Coulda asked," Cid said._ _

__"Effort."_ _

__"And that wasn't!?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__Cid snorted laughter into one bloodied fist. "Yeah, sure."_ _

__Vincent popped the first aid kit open and got to work. He cleaned Cid's wounds with generous amounts of peroxide and the rags, wiping away blood. Some of the gashes looked like they needed stitches, but they would heal so quickly that he'd be picking stitches out in the morning, at the risk of causing more bleeding. He got out a tube of skin adhesive instead, sealing up the worst ones with the semi-transparent gunk._ _

__The bullet holes were the worst of it. Cid muttered quiet curses the whole time Vincent attended to him, but when made to sit forward so Vincent could prod gently at the holes, he fell silent, barely breathing. The bullets were still in there; one of them gleamed wetly in the light when Vincent tilted his head the right way to see it._ _

__"Stay with me, Chief," Vincent said, right before getting a pair of tweezers to dig the chunks of metal out._ _

__Cid slapped his palm against the table. Wood splintered on impact, the table gave a warning groan before collapsing. Vincent sighed as he flicked the first bullet into the kitchen sink._ _

__"Really, Highwind."_ _

__"FUCK! That _hurt_."_ _

__"Yes. Two more."_ _

__"Dammit, shit, fuck, ain't even fuckin' sorry we tore that asshole up..."_ _

__Vincent bent to collect the first aid kit from its new ground-level height and made Cid hold it. "Are you ready?"_ _

__" _Yes_ , fuckin' get it over with." Cid hunkered forward, clenching his fists against the meat of his thighs above his knees, on either side of the kit. "Then we gotta lookit ya..."_ _

__"Mhm."_ _

__Vincent dug the other two bullets out as quickly as he could, with a pause between them so that Cid could swear and smack himself in the leg hard enough to bruise. Each bullet plinked into the sink._ _

__Afterwards, he sealed the holes up, bandaged them, and gave Cid one of the larger doses of potion. Cid made a face over it._ _

__"Do you want a Cure instead?"_ _

__"Nah-uh, we got shit to do..." Cid chugged the potion in one go, and exhaled sharply after. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, scraping it against his teeth. "Nasty shit. Now ya."_ _

__Sighing with great reluctance, Vincent traded places with Cid on the chair. He shed his blood-soaked clothing, all but his underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor._ _

__Cid let out a low whistle, inspecting the mottled bruise that covered Vincent's stomach. "I kicked the goddamn hell outta ya. Sorry, starshine."_ _

__"It's fine. If you would get this over with--?"_ _

__"Yeah, yeah, sorry."_ _

__Cid patched Vincent up far more quickly. He didn't have to worry about a fist full of claws, or bullets. The worst of it were the deep gashes on Vincent's back, crisscrossing the older scars. Vincent sat stiff and quiet while Cid muttered through the whole process of cleaning, sealing, and bandaging. He didn't make a fuss over drinking a potion after._ _

__Standing back to inspect his work with a critical eye, Cid shrugged. "That'll hafta do." He scratched absently at the edges of the bandaging on his neck. "Now we gotta... fuck, we got people dyin' all over, and..."_ _

__"Clothes."_ _

__"Uh. Sure."_ _

__Vincent limped upstairs with Cid on his heels. He paused at the telltale signs of a bestial rampage down the hall and stairs, new scratches and scuff marks. Cid huffed irritably._ _

__They parted for their separate bedrooms and met up in the bathroom a few minutes later. Not enough time and too many bandages for a full shower, but they helped each other sponge off. Vincent brushed his teeth until the taste of Cid's blood faded. He met blue eyes in the mirror, then glanced away._ _

__"Cid... I'm sorry. About almost... Instincts got the better of me."_ _

__"S'only natural, right?" Cid squeezed a generous portion of toothpaste onto his own toothbrush. He shoved it into his mouth, giving a few thoughtful scrubs, then shifted the brush to one side of his mouth so he could talk, somewhat garbled. "We're, yanno, partners. Fuckin' dumbass beasts ain't know any better, right?"_ _

__"I suppose."_ _

__"Thanks for not lettin' me eat the She Devil."_ _

__Vincent nodded, pressing their shoulders carefully together. Cid grinned, a bit of foam dripping down his chin, then bent to finish brushing his teeth._ _

__"I should... call Reeve."_ _

__Cid gave a grunt of agreement. Vincent left him to it, retreating to his room to look for his phone. It wasn't in any of the usual places, so he drifted into Cid's room. It was a mess--deep claw marks scored the wooden floor boards, the rug torn to pieces. One of the side tables had been knocked over, the lamp smashed on the floor next to the alarm clock. The door had been ripped off its hinges._ _

__The bed remained intact, including Cid's precious blue-and-yellow quilt. Vincent sighed through his nose, running his fingers along the quilt. He spotted his phone lying on the floor in the middle of the broken pieces of lamp. His cloak and belts sat safely on top of the dresser, with his boots on the floor nearby. He collected all of them, then stepped out into the hall._ _

__Cid leaned in the bathroom doorway, arms folded. "S'all fucked up, huh? Gonna hafta get people out to fix it..."_ _

__"Let's get the vermin disposed of first," Vincent said, tossing his phone to Cid._ _


	12. i never meant

"Delegatin', huh?"

"My gun is outside."

"Can't have that," Cid said. He grinned a little, already tapping at the phone.

Vincent descended the stairs, picking his way between the broken, scratched up claw marks in the wood. Behind him, Cid followed at a much more leisurely pace. Faintly, he could hear the buzz of the line ringing. It rang three times, then Cid was redirected to Reeve's eternally full message box, narrated by Cait Sith.

"Aw hell, he ain't changed his fuckin' number again, has he?"

"No."

A moment later, the phone rang. Cid muttered a soft, "Shit," then answered it with, "Yo! Highwind's Valentine Babysitting Service, what can I do ya for?" A pause. "Oh, yeah, Reeve, we got a real fuckarow for ya. Trot some of them WRO fools to my house pronto, why don'tcha?"

Vincent shifted his shoulders to readjust his cloak. It weighed heavily against his back, applying pressure to the wounds. They already burned as the flesh knitted itself back together, pushing the sealant out.

As Cid continued his conversation with Reeve, Vincent headed back outside. He paused in the shadow of the house, head tilted. The driver of the buggie was in the process of dragging their still living companions towards the vehicles. When they saw Vincent, they let go of their friend's shoulders, dumping them in the dirt. The wounded let out an ugly, drawn out groan.

The driver fumbled for the gun at their hip.

"Don't," Vincent advised. "I'm not as forgiving as my partner."

"That... _thing_ killed my friends!"

"Sure as fuck did, dammit," Cid said, from behind Vincent, as he pressed the cellphone into Vincent’s hand. He sounded tired. "Shouldn't have fuckin' happened, but ain't shit I can do 'bout it now..."

"I don't think home invaders are in any position to shame us for self-defense." Vincent took a step forward as he stowed the cellphone inside his shirt. The barrel of the gun followed him, waveringly.

He thought about pale, spindly fingers stained with ink and dust. The cold gloom of a basement, with nothing but the weak flicker of a desk lamp. The gurgle and buzz of machinery nearby, already cooking up new horrors. And the gun, shaking in the grasp of those fingers as the owner rambled and wept and screamed.

A foolish man walked towards his death. He hoped it wouldn't turn out badly, but it did, it always did.

Vincent took another step.

The gun went off with a crack. Cid yelled something, shit or damn or fuck or maybe all of the above. Vincent tilted his head to the left, then turned it to take in the broken glass in the window to his right. In slow motion, pieces of it fell away, dropping into the bushes below.

"Really," Vincent said.

He took another step forward. The next bullet zinged past his cheek, nicking him, and smashed into the wooden pillar that held the porch roof up. A thin stream of blood slipped down like a teardrop.

Cid hissed, "Vince, stop it already."

"As you wish."

Though he knew perfectly well that Cid probably meant for him to retreat, Vincent stepped forward again. The cloak swirled around him as he frayed apart, then he spun through the air, so fast that the next bullet was still mid-air when he reformed behind the driver. He curled his claws against the soft underside of their throat the same time that the bullet left a two inch crater on the concrete step next to Cid's foot.

"Holy fuck!" Cid jerked back a step. "Fuckin' 'bout took my goddamn foot off, what the shit's the matter with ya?!"

"You are really very lucky," Vincent said, soft and low and brimming with barely contained fury. "If that had hit..." He flexed his claws, scraping four long thin lines of red.

"I-- I'm--" The driver hiccupped.

"Best drop it."

The gun clattered onto the dirt. Vincent laid his gauntlet flat against the bloodied neck, the pinprick tips of his claws settled against either side. He pressed his other palm against the back of their neck, pinning them.

"Are they done screwin' 'round?" Cid called, arms folded.

"If they would like any of their friends to survive the day..."

The driver twitched upright, heedless of the risk of being cut further. "Wha-- what?"

"My gun should be between the buggies, Chief."

"Right." Cid stepped back into the house long enough to stomp into his boots. Then he crossed the yard, pausing in front of the driver to bend and pick up their gun. "Man, they don't fuckin' make 'em like they used to, do they?"

"No." Vincent eyed the mass-produced piece of plastic sidelong.

"How can you two be... so..." The driver's shoulders shook with the faintest of tremors. "So..."

"We can be whatever the fuck we want. We ain't the ones breakin' and enterin', ruinin' a goddamn good day. And our fuckin' house--!"

Grumbling and waving his arms, Cid stomped off between the buggies. Vincent hmmed, tightening his grip on the fragile throat between his hands. When the slight movement ceased entirely but for too rapid breathing, he loosened his grip again. It was far too tempting to grab them by the skull and _twist_. Their neck would snap so easily.

Cid came back with Cerberus resting in the crook of his arm a moment later. "Guess we oughta heal these stupid bastards..."

"There's a Cure," Vincent said. "And Time. Some of them probably will not survive with all these pointless delays..." He tapped his clawed thumb against the driver's neck. "Some people really should learn to recognize when they've lost."

"I'm s--"

Cid cut them off by raising the gun and activating the Time materia. A glowing, semi-transparent clock appeared before the driver. Vincent let go and pushed away as the clock wound backwards, its hands coming to a stop at midnight. The frozen body of the driver tipped over onto their side.

"A little more warning?"

"Sorry, starshine, didn't wanna hear their bullshit."

"Hm." Vincent stood and dusted himself off, then drew his cape around himself. "I suppose you'd better start healing the others." He tilted his head, listening. "...Most of them have already gone quiet..."

"That's too damn bad," Cid sighed, shaking his head.

Home invaders had no business making Cid sound so world-weary. Vincent didn't know what to say. He stood and stepped close to Cid, brushing his fingertips against the other man’s chest. The dog tags jangled and settled against the back of his fingers, a cool counterpoint to the warm heartbeat beneath.

“Do you want me to take care of it?”

“Nah-uh, I got it.”

Vincent nodded and stepped aside. Cid bumped their shoulders together as he moved forward, leaning into the rough contact for a moment before he crouched to check for a pulse on the body the driver had been dragging. The rainbow sparkle of a full Cure surrounded the body a moment later, followed by the glow of the clock.

“Man, ya really fucked these guys up. Be lucky if they keep their limbs.”

“Sorry.”

“Ya ain't even a lil.” Cid snorted. “S’alright. Drag em over to the shadow of the house, wouldja?”

That seemed too kind by far, but all Vincent said was, “Alright.”

As Vincent hauled the time-stopped victims to leave them in the shade by the house, Cid worked his way through the rest of the bodies. All told, five survivors lay in a frozen line by the end, including the person that had collapsed in front of the basement and one of the She Devil’s victims. The actual corpses were left where they lay.

“There's potentially more in the basement.”

“What the hell happened to the door, Valentine?”

“I couldn't have them escaping with anything important…”

Cid threw his arms up, hefting Cerberus onto his shoulder like a larger rifle. “Yeah, sure, fuck, now march your ass to my workshop and get me my weldin’ kit if I ain't fucked it up the other night.” He jerked his thumb to the side, indicating the black-and-gray vehicles coming up the drive. “I’ll deal with the fuzz.”

“Alright.” Vincent held his hand out. “My gun?”

“Right.”

The moment the reassuring weight of Cerberus was in his hand again, Vincent set off for the workshop. He spun the heavy gun idly before stowing it in the holster strapped to his leg.

The workshop remained exactly as they'd left it. Vincent shoved one of the doors open and picked his way through the wreckage. He did a quick survey but nothing jumped out at him, figuratively or otherwise. Then he began a more thorough search, frowning as he poked through the debris.

His cellphone buzzed against his ribs. A soft, tinny victory chime accompanied the vibration. Vincent paused his search to answer out of morbid curiosity, thinking that his day could not possibly get any weirder.

"Vincent."

"Cloud."

There was a prolonged pause.

Vincent heard the muffled clatter of metal against wood, and a loud twang followed by an inward hiss of breath. He shifted the phone away from his ear and continued to search through the wreckage for Cid's welding kit. Two tanks of oxy-fuel sat blessedly unharmed under one of the work benches, but no sign of the familiar battered plastic kit or hose...

"Do you know anything about pianos?"

Vincent blinked at the phone. "...Pianos."

"Yeah. There was one in the mansion, so, I mean... Long shot, I guess."

"I..."

_A refreshing spring breeze flowed in through the windows, stirring the white curtains. Shafts of sunlight slanted into the room, motes of dust the only dancers to the somber tunes coming from the piano._

_The scientists were all down in the basement, leaving Vincent to wile the hours away because Nibelheim was a small town with no immediate threats. He sought solace in the piano, playing a little slower, a little more clumsily than he had when he'd kept up practice. When his hands weren't callused or showing the beginnings of long term damage to the knuckles._

_Professor Gast came up first and stood appreciatively in the doorway, head tilted and eyes closed._

"Vincent?" Cloud, not Professor Gast. "You there?"

"Yes. I played."

"Oh, great! Do you remember what kind of piano that was?"

"K. Alous."

"Thanks."

Silence fell between them again.

Vincent walked to the back of the workshop and nudged a fallen steel shelf out of the way. Toolboxes and their contents lay scattered on the floor. He found the welding hose tangled up beneath one of the heavier boxes. The kit itself sat several feet away, unharmed but for new dents on the corners. It might have fallen off when the shelf got knocked over.

"Cloud," Vincent said. “Is that all?”

"Oh, uh, I'll let you go."

Vincent hung up. He put the phone away, then looped the welding hose over one shoulder. Next, he tucked the kit under his left arm. He retraced his steps to the oxy-fuel tanks, checked the gauges on them, and selected the one with more fuel in it. The basement door was thick; Cid would be there a while, and he’d need as much oxy-fuel as possible. Little chance of the two gunshot victims surviving, but perhaps the time-locked one wouldn't starve…

By the time Vincent ferried his find out, the WRO were in full force, milling about. Forensics put down tape and numbered boards around bodies, taking extensive photographs and notes. Other agents collected discarded weaponry and the poorly refined materia. Still others attended to the still living victims, applying more thorough first aid before cuffing them and dragging them off to the backs of vehicles that didn't have handles on the back doors.

Vincent crossed the yard, going straight for Cid, who seemed to be overseeing a trio of agents loading the She Devil onto a stretcher.

“Cid.”

“Oh, ya found it?” Cid turned towards Vincent without really taking his eyes off the chocobo. “Ya mind takin' it inside? I’ll be in once these jackasses are done manhandlin’ my girl.”

Nodding, Vincent headed into the house. He deposited his burden by the basement door, giving the large blood stain in front of it a wide berth. Then, because he had no desire to go back out and deal with people, he chose a spot on the wall next to the basement door and leaned his shoulder against it, mindful of his injuries. He folded his arms beneath his cloak and closed his eyes to wait.

The buzz and jingle of his phone ringing again came a few moments later. Vincent frowned, opening one eye. Sighing, he pulled the phone out to answer it.

“Cloud.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I forgot--”

A clatter of metal falling against wood, then a prolonged scraping noise of something heavy being dragged. Cloud’s breath came out in a noisy huff. Sometimes, Vincent wished he could see what was happening on the other end of the line during the few phone calls he was forced to endure.

“What do you want?” Vincent prompted, when the silence began to drag on. He could see Cid at the front door, talking to a pair of WRO agents.

“I got a piano.”

“I guessed.”

“For Tifa.”

“Hn.”

“But it’s a little busted up and I don’t know anything about fixing them…”

“You should hire someone.”

Cloud gave one of his breathy, humorless laughs. “Not exactly a common profession, after the end of the world and all.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Lot of broken wires. Here, listen.”

“Don’t--”

Vincent yanked the phone away from his ear at the first screechy note. It was followed by several dissatisfying clunks and clacks of keys not playing anything, and then a couple more twangy out of tune notes. If the thing was a gift for Tifa, it would be a wonder Cloud didn’t get his head kicked in.

“Alright, starshine?” Cid finally wandered indoors. No one followed him in.

Over the phone, Cloud said, “You see?”

“Yes, thank you.” Vincent sighed, shifting the phone to his gauntlet so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose without cutting himself. “Send that thing to a graveyard, Cloud. It could wake the dead.”

Cloud laughed, a little helplessly. “Aw, man... I was hoping I could…”

“No.”

“Damn it.” Cloud blew a raspberry. “Well, hey, you know pianos… would you help me find a better one?”

“Maybe.”

“Great! When’s a good time to meet up?”

“Not now.”

In the background, Cid busied himself with setting up the welding kit. Once assembled, he used the flame to light a cigarette. At Vincent’s narrow look, he grinned cockily, gesturing vaguely at the devastation behind him. Their house was already in shambles, the gesture seemed to say, a little smoke wouldn’t be that much worse. Vincent rolled his eyes.

Over the hiss of fire cutting through metal, Cloud asked, “Cid got a new project?”

“Oh, yes,” Vincent said, dryly. “It involves cutting a new entrance for our basement so we can recover some thieves before they starve.”

“What?!”

“You should ask Shinra what happened to the piano from the mansion."

“I did, it was sold in an auction for more than my bike’s worth--”

“Who has that much money for luxury in this day and age?”

“Dunno, I-- what’s going on, Vincent? Are you guys okay?”

“Find out.” Vincent shifted against the wall, watching as Cid reached the halfway point on cutting through the door. “We’re probably fine.”

“Yeah, no fuckin’ sweat, just our goddamn house trashed.” Cid snorted.

Cloud, ever the worry wart, started to say, “Do you guys--”

“When we know more, I will… have Cid update you.”

With a bark of laughter, Cid wagged the welding flame in Vincent’s general direction. “Ain’t fuckin’ right delegatin’ _all_ the time!”

“He’s going to tell Tifa, and she’s going to make a fuss.”

“I will not--”

Vincent hung up on Cloud as he was not interested in listening to feeble protests and he had nothing more he could say. He flicked the button on the side of his phone to put it in silent mode. Even as he put the phone away, the screen lit up, showing Cloud’s number. Vincent ignored it.

“Oh, so ya gonna leave me to the fate of dealin’ with Tifa on my own? Ain’t I get a say in this?”

“I assumed I would be stuck dealing with Yuffie when she inevitably finds out through Reeve.”

“...Yeah, alright, fair.”

Cutting through the door took another five minutes or so. Cid snapped the welding flame off and propped it against the kit, the hot tip kept carefully away from anything it could melt or burn. He motioned for Vincent to come over, and together they shouldered the heavy metal door out of the way.

At the bottom of the stairs lay two corpses and one very frightened person with a gun. The Stop effects had worn off, leaving them alone in the gloom with the overpowering stench of blood and death.

“Holy fu--”

Vincent grabbed Cid’s elbow and yanked him out of the basement doorway. The gun went off, bullets flying in a wide arc that tore up the steps, the top floor, and part of the wall directly across from the door. He silently recounted the shots as he crowded Cid against the wall. Seven or eight, hard to be certain with the echo in the narrow stairwell.

“Fuckin’-- Some kinda goddamn gratitude!!”

In answer, the person at the bottom of the stairs shot once more. The bullet hit the door frame and ricocheted to crash through one of the front windows.

From outside, Vincent heard alarm and consternation from the WRO agents. A moment later, several people in body armor with heavy guns and heavier boots came thudding into the house. They spread out, making a quick search of the house for the enemy. The apparent leader caught Vincent’s gaze and mouthed, _where_.

“I recommend surrender,” Vincent said, tilting his head towards the basement door.

“My-- my friends--” The voice at the bottom of the stairwell trembled. It was too young by far. “You--”

Cid exhaled against Vincent’s neck, hands rising to clutch at the edges of his cloak. Vincent met his gaze as the WRO took up positions around the basement door. Though he cared not at all whether the enemy lived or died, he knew it would bother Cid.

“Don’t move.”

“Vince--”

“Don’t,” Vincent repeated, firmly.

Before the WRO could put an end to it, Vincent blurred around the corner. He flowed down the stairs like smoke, his cloak a vivid swirling red. The sight frightened the survivor so badly that they screamed and fired.

_Nine, ten, eleven--_

The average assault rifle magazine contained fifteen to eighteen rounds, depending on the year of production. Under the WRO, the normalized standard was fifteen. Anything larger was considered military grade and illegal for civilian possession.

The question was: did armed bandits have any interest in the law?

_Twelve, thirteen, fourteen… Fifteen._

The gunshots stopped. The swirling red cloud reached the bottom floor and pooled there between the corpses, waiting. Then Vincent rose from it to become solid once again. His cloak rustled, lifted by some invisible breeze, then settled down over his back. He loomed over the shaking survivor huddled in the corner.

“You’re--”

“Come quietly.”

A yellow-orange flash erupted from the barrel of the gun, the explosive crash that followed hit him hard enough to make him stagger. The bullet tore through old scars, leaving a burning wake of fire behind. Blood sprayed from his back, splattering the walls and stairs. Two other shots went wide, adding new holes to his cloak and throwing up chunks of wood and cement on impact.

Vincent sank to his knees with his head ringing. He heard screaming and crying beneath the clamor. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the storm crashing down on them all. Wide, frightened eyes filled with tears stared at him as he gave into the slow, sick slide downwards.

Sooner or later, it always ended badly when he tried to offer mercy to the one holding a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, guys and gals and nonbinary pals, the critfail roll that derailed my entire fanfic.


	13. fix yourself

The glass chime jangled in the summer breeze that brought the golden hues of sunset. He stood in the garden, his face upturned to watch a slow moving flock of birds flying overhead. The wind tugged at his short hair, mussing it up. Somewhere, the hounds began to bay. Somewhere, horses whinnied and stamped. Somewhere, his mother wept over broken pieces of china.

His father was home. His shadow filled the doorway behind Vincent. He said nothing, but the weight of his disapproval could be felt without words.

Not a bad man, but not a kind one, either. He did not see his wife, not since she'd given him the son he wanted. Instead, he kept the company of younger women, each touted as his apprentice in his increasingly esoteric fields of study. Biology, cellular energy, lifestream, WEAPONs...

Chaos.

ShinRa paid G. Valentine for answers he could not give them. Answers he had no interest in giving them. They wanted something tangible that they could profit off of. He wanted to know the inner workings of the universe. Perhaps he also wanted to know the inner workings of his apprentices' clothing, if the rumors were to be believed.

 _"Vincent,"_ his father said, _"It's time you learned."_

He never learned.

He ran away to Midgar, after his mother's death. Fell in with the wrong crowd for a while, putting his wild temper and sharpshooting skills to use. ShinRa found him in a gutter, high on some insane cocktail of drugs, black and blue and bloodied all over but alive, so maddeningly alive.

_"You should see the other guys!"_

A man in a pressed blue suit flicked his cigarette to the ground. The cherry ember blazed up, became flickering flames that devoured the fallen corpses all around Vincent. All the evidence gone to ashes.

 _"I see,"_ the man said. _"Become a dog of ShinRa or die in the gutter."_

Vincent laughed and laughed and laughed-- and then choked, as a knee slammed into his gut, as unyielding fingers sank into his neck. He dropped his gun, staring into eyes that blazed like the fire all around him. Sobriety came quick. Loyalty came much later, slow and inevitable like lava creeping down from the peaks of his ancestral home.

ShinRa wasn't much better than the wrong crowd. They just had more money and paperwork to fill out. Vincent killed who they said to kill. He slept where they said to sleep. He stayed sober and kept his dalliances to a minimum, lest someone find something to hold over his head.

Sooner or later, he was going to fuck up. That was just the way his life had always been. Got caught screwing the wrong person at the wrong time. First it was the president's secretary, then it was the scientist's wife.

_"Vincent!"_

What good did it do to scream his name after he was already dying? He could not answer.

_"Vince--"_

The roar of thunder, lightning striking too close to home. Vincent felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arm standing on end. The rain that followed felt too warm and sporadic. He wanted to tell the people screaming in the background to be _quiet_ so he could listen to it.

_"Vin, please, don't-- don't fuckin' die--"_

Thing was, he'd already died, more than thirty years ago. Bled out on a grimy basement floor, choking on the taste of copper. He could not die again. The planet needed him. Her last WEAPON would endure eternity to see Her off to Her final rest.

Vincent sank downwards, all his pieces scattering to be carried away by gentle currents. The sounds of the storm faded away.

Soon, the endless whispery rustle of a torrent of voices filled the silence. He listened to their stories, but felt only cold loneliness. Their voices did not rumble with the promise of rain to wash away the blood. They could not touch him with rough hands that nonetheless cradled him as if he were the most precious thing in all the world.

The wind chime sang out.

He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the flower field, yellow as far as the eye could see. The sky was a white, fuzzy blur overhead. A plaid blanket sat atop a hill beneath a tree. Vincent looked at it for a while, then climbed the hill to sit. He knew for a fact that the tree had been struck down by lightning during his long sleep, the hill devoid of life as the lifestream was harvested for mako.

In the real world, Lucrecia caught him napping up there. She didn't know he'd been up all night, taking extra precautions after an ambush on the road to the reactor.

 _"Sleeping on the job?"_ she asked, laughingly. Then she trotted out the picnic basket.

In Her place of flowers, Vincent was alone. He no longer heard the voices of the dead, and She did not come to chide him for much needed rest. If he wanted to, he could call out to Her, and perhaps She would answer.

Instead, he laid down, curling onto his side. He clutched the dog tags against his heartbeat and hoped his slumber would not take another thirty years.

When next he opened his eyes, the sky overhead was a dark, gloomy grey, punctuated by flickers of blue light. Faint rumbles echoed off the mountains. Vincent sat up, squinting through the thick, soupy fog, but he couldn't see further than a couple feet. The tree was a charred stump covered in decades of moss. Sparse, prickly grass and dandelions covered the hilltop.

Despite all appearances of being back in the real world, he could not be certain. The lifestream flowed endlessly around him, a shivery feeling like static gliding over his body. Maybe he still slept, maybe not.

Vincent descended through the fog, choosing his footing with care. The grass was slick with dew and the ground beneath it crumbly sand that came apart easily. At the bottom of the hill, he took a moment to get his bearings. A cluster of rocks with a broken off sign post sticking out of them couldn't tell him much, but he used it to figure out which way was north.

Then he launched himself into the air. All his parts swirled and spun into one tight clump of red, a bullet fired straight for home. He cut straight through the fog, arced up over the mountains, and touched down just outside of Rocket Town.

Or... what remained of Rocket Town.

Vincent walked down what used to be main street. The fog thinned out the further he got into town, allowing him to see what remained of his home.

Most of the buildings were gone. Those that remained were little more than foundations and crookedly leaning chimneys. Plants overtook everything. They jutted up between the cracks in concrete and tar. They hung from old, rusty street lights and signs. Even drooped under the weight of fog and dew, many of them came up to Vincent's waist. And every single flower was yellow, no matter its shape.

Shera's house still stood, though the walls collapsed in on themselves. Vincent stood at the end of the weed-choked driveway and wondered what became of her. Like himself, Lucrecia could not age. With Shera gone, had she left for greener pastures? Perhaps she chose to sleep, as Vincent would have.

With a shake of his head, Vincent sighed through his nose. It made no difference, wondering. He moved on.

The walls of their property loomed up ahead, twice as tall as he remembered them, and bristling with more spikes and crackling electric wire. Vincent eyed the massive, solid metal gates for a moment. Then he leapt over them.

He landed on solid concrete on the other side. As far as he could see, every inch of the property had been paved. Not a single scrap of plant life thrived behind the walls. In fact, the only thing planted here and there seemed to be traps. Huge, rusty bear traps and mines with softly blinking orange lights lay scattered all over. Vincent picked his way between them, drawing his cape up to prevent it from brushing against anything.

The house was gone, so was his garden and the chocobo stable. The only building left was the workshop, ringed by heavy duty buggies parked end to end. A faint buzzing coming from inside them told him he should keep his distance.

Garbled, tinny music drifted from inside the workshop. Vincent tilted his head, listening. He picked out a few words-- _made for you_ \--and nodded to himself. Cid sometimes sang that song to bring Vincent back down from a nightmare induced panic.

He slithered beneath one of the buggies like smoke. Hundreds of blinking orange lights on the underside confirmed his suspicion. Not only would a trespasser be blown to smithereens, but very likely the workshop would go with them.

The sharp blade of a spear flashed in front of his face when he reformed on the other side. Vincent took a step back, narrowly avoiding a second pass.

"Cid--"

" _You_!" A voice gone raspy from disuse, deep and grumbling like the thunder that still made itself known now and then in the far distance.

Cid threw his arms wide, clacking the butt of the spear against the ground. His skin was tanned so dark and lined with so many wrinkles that he looked like a tree stump with a scruffy yellow beard and matted hair. He wore filthy coveralls not zipped up, showing his scarred chest. He lacked the dog tags.

"No, this ain't fuckin' right, _where have ya been_?!" Cid began to pace, always watching Vincent out of the corner of his eye. "Ya left me, Valentine. Ya left all of us. _Where the fuck did ya go_!?"

Vincent could think of nothing to say that didn't sound like weak excuses. He kept his mouth shut.

Growling, Cid stomped up into his space. His skin shivered, twisting and stretching taut between bones. A mouth full of teeth better suited to a monster than a man pressed against Vincent's throat. The spear clacked to the ground and claws grasped Vincent's cape, clutching as if to never let him go.

"Where were you, ten, twenty, thirty, _forty_ years ago?"

Forty years come and gone. Forty years he slept, wrapped in the embrace of the lifestream. Would he sleep even longer the next time he died?

Moving slow, lest he get his throat torn out, Vincent lifted his hand. Cid rumbled warningly, but did not bite. Not yet. Vincent settled his palm against the scarred chest, feeling the thunder of a heartbeat going too fast, too hard.

"The promise was to always return."

Cid recoiled from him, eyes gone wide with indignant shock.

The dream unraveled, imagery dissipating like fog. Vincent stood alone in the flower field again, nothing but yellow flowers gently bobbing for eternity on all sides. He flexed his hand, then dropped it to his side.

He felt Her presence behind him. If he turned, She would stay always just behind him. He didn’t bother, staring straight ahead.

“You cannot keep me.”

 _No, and I don’t want to._ She brushed her hands against his back, as if to smooth out his cloak. _But you’re gravely injured and need more time…_

“I don’t have that kind of time to give.”

_But--_

“Return me. Lucrecia will know what to do.”

_If she fails and you die again…_

“I understand.”

 _Vincent…_ She pushed him, sending him tumbling head over heels. Her voice dwindled as he fell from light into darkness. _Be careful. She’s coming._

Inky blackness surrounded him on all sides. If not for the continued rush of air tugging his cape and hair upwards, battering his skin with chill, Vincent would not have known he was still falling.

Beneath the rustle of his cape and the steady whoosh of wind, he heard something move. Something that made wet squelching noises, heavy limbs splatting wetly against the floor. Something that rasped and clicked as it slithered. Something vast and unknowable, with hundreds of mako green eyes opening up to watch his descent.

A different She loomed out from the void, her pale blue face drawn in a mockery of serene joy over a twisted mass of tentacles and parts in all the wrong places. Her whispers full of poisoned promises echoed, but they too dwindled as he fell out of her reach.

Blackness gave away to muted red, like the veiny red and purple seen behind his eyelids. Vincent twisted around, prepared to land on his feet.

He smacked face first into a hard, cold tile floor. The impact reverberated through his body, setting off sparks like fractured glass jabbing into his every part. He knew he laid flat out on tile because he felt the gaps between the tile digging into his skin. The smell of disinfectant--bleach, mainly--hit him next, making his stomach recoil.

Then there came a woman's scream and the jangling, jarring crash of bits of metal hitting the tile, clattering this way and that. Vincent wheezed and struggled to crack one eye open. A blur of color and too bright lights greeted him. He shut his eyes quickly, before his stomach could find something to throw up.

"Vincent!?"

 _Ah,_ he thought, just before passing out.

Later, Vincent woke in an uncomfortable, narrow white bed. The head of it sat at an angle, propping him up, perhaps for the appearance that he was more lively than he felt. Metal railings penned him in on either side, and pathetically thin, scratchy blankets covered his lower half. A checkered white and blue hospital gown tried to offer him some semblance of modesty.

He shifted and felt the jab of something stiff and sharp beneath his skin. Long plastic tubes connected him to an IV. Some sort of clamp on his forefinger glowed red when he lifted his arm gingerly. The machines to his right beeped steadily, but soon emitted a chirruping warning that pierced right through his skull. He laid his arm back down and it quieted again.

The clock on the far wall said it was 1:52. The low blue light slanting through the blinds suggested that was AM, not PM.

Footsteps rushed down the hallway, coming closer. The doorway rattled, then swung open, the blinds on its window rattling from the impact. Yellow light spilled into the room, bringing with it the shadow of a woman. Vincent squinted, hissing.

"You're awake," Lucrecia said, but quietly. She shut the door, holding the knob turned down so it wouldn't click when she shut it. "I'm so-- ugh, Vincent, you had us worried." Blowing out a breath, she hurried over to check on the machines and to change the empty IV bag. "How are you feeling?"

Vincent swallowed. His throat crackled in protest, feeling as though the skin peeled away to leave raw, bleeding wounds behind. "How..." The whisper that came out of his mouth was barely audible, even to his ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How... long?"

"You were gone for..." Lucrecia checked her watch. "This will be day four now. You died? The lifestream took you... But then you, you showed up on my floor yesterday, in the middle of the operating room, and I didn't... know what else to _do_."

Four days. Better than forty years, Vincent supposed. He let his eyes slide shut, listening to Lucrecia fret and ramble. Some of the tension he didn't know he'd been holding onto drained out of him, soothed by the cadence of her voice.

"You kept sliding apart, you know. Like something made of liquid, or gas, or something. Not real and solid. I had to practically scoop you up into the rehabilitation chamber and Gaia, I hope I managed to get everything..."

"Yes."

Lucrecia paused, then clicked her tongue. "You would know, right? Hah... Now I've got you on nutrients to keep you from dehydration or malnourishment but you might have to go back into the chamber if you start, um... Falling apart again."

Vincent tried to flex his claw but found a noticeable lack of response. He opened his eyes and looked down at the stump with consternation. It peeked out from the edge of the sleeve, an ugly chunk of metal. At least none of the scars were exposed...

“Oh, um, I had to take it off. For the chamber. Sorry. All of your things are in the closet over there…”

He looked where she pointed, then nodded very slightly. Being trapped in a hospital bed ranked as one of his top nightmares, and he desperately longed for the machines to stop their endless beeping, but he _trusted_ Lucrecia. And he felt dizzy with exhaustion, every nerve singing with the kind of deep aches that lingered.

If not for a nagging, impatient feeling digging its claws against the back of his breastbone, Vincent might have eventually drifted back to sleep. He frowned up at Lucrecia, watching as she went to the counter near the door. The cupboard clicked, then there came the sound of water rushing. She brought a dripping cup of the stuff back, and helped him sit up to drink some. It ran in little rivulets down his chin. What little made it down his throat felt as refreshing as powdery snow against the burning ache.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, once she finished letting him have another mouthful.

“...Cid.”

“Oh. Oh no, Vincent, it’s terrible, he’s…”

Dread settled in his stomach, cold and heavy.

“...been arrested.”

“What.”

Lucrecia gestured with the cup of water. The liquid sloshed over the sides, splashing her hand and the bedding. “I know, it’s ridiculous, he was stressed, and no one _died_ , I don’t know why the WRO-- anyway, we’ll have to get you back to health as quickly as possible!” She pointed at him, frowning sternly. “So no jailbreak attempts, okay? Work with me and we’ll go rescue Cid as soon and as legally as possible.”

Vincent sighed.

To do otherwise would be to put Cid’s reputation at further risk. It might even cost Vincent his life for more than forty years, if Her concern was anything to go by. He had no choice but to put up with Lucrecia’s fussing.

“...Alright.”

“Good!” Lucrecia set the glass of water down on a tray with wheels; the glass clacked and sloshed. She picked up some sort of remote control, pointing out the large, colorful buttons. “If you need anything, you can call me with this button here… This is also the TV remote, if you get bored.”

“Can it… mute the beeping.”

She let out a startled little laugh, and then did something to the machines that did not totally mute the racket, but turned the volume down to a much more tolerable level.

“Better?”

“Hn.”

“Okay, I’ll let you rest…” Lucrecia patted at his pillows, uselessly fluffing at the corner. “You really scared us, Vincent. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Through the blur of nearly closed eyelids, Vincent watched her smile sadly, then retreat. She kept glancing back, as though he might disappear. Hard to blame her, when the planet thought he’d rest better in the lifestream.

The door clicked shut, leaving him in blessed darkness. Vincent closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing. Sleep came slowly, with dread and anxiety crouched on his chest and a head full of worry for Cid spinning round and round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on holiday hiatus until after New Years, see you then!


	14. legends are told

Time ran together, days and nights blurring into one another. Waking or slumbering, it made no difference, Vincent lay in a fugue state. Sometimes he opened his eyes to find himself encased in glass, floating in mako-tinted waters. Sometimes he lay connected to wires and tubes on an uncomfortable bed. Always, the familiar face of Lucrecia looking on worriedly, her voice soft, eased him down from tense paranoia. It helped that he never ended up on an operating table, too.

As he tried to recover from death, Vincent descended into the twisty corridors of his mind. He shivered from the onslaught of memories, not all of them bad, but every one of them soft and foggy yet all too real.

His mother smiling as she showed him how to make pork buns. She had flour up to her elbows. A white smear of it marred her nose. When he pointed it out, she laughed at him and plucked at his hair, where some stood out against black. Then she ruffled his hair, declaring that he should look like the little old man he behaved like. In retaliation, he scooped a handful off the counter and flung it at her. 

They made sure to clean everything up before his father got home. The flour fight was their secret.

A large embossed silver plaque hung over the front door, perpetually in shadow. Cerberus, the guard dog of hell. Rubies gleamed in the eye sockets, staring balefully down at all who came through the door.

 _"A Valentine should have good hunting dogs,"_ his father said. _"Don't be a coward, boy, go and show them who's boss."_

Vincent looked between his father and the dog kennel, where the three grown dogs watched warily. Their lips peeled back when he reached for the gate. Teeth and slobber and low growls.

_"They're not mine, father."_

He expected to be slapped and thrown in the kennel to be ripped to pieces. Instead, his father let out a booming laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

_"Good! You're not totally stupid, then."_

The next day, his father took him on a week long journey to visit select dog breeders.

The breeders lived in out of the way places, far removed from the rest of civilization. Their sprawling properties were overrun with friendly, or at least well-trained, dogs that greeted strangers with suspicion but not hate. When the breeders waved them in, the dogs crowded Vincent to get petted, tongues lolling.

_"Three dogs, Vincent. Three heads are better than one."_

He didn't know the first thing about picking dogs, but he listened attentively when his father explained all the mysteries of choosing. Bright eyes, wet noses, fine coats, the list seemed endless and he couldn't imagine finding just the perfect ones. His attention was drawn again and again to the cutest, smallest puppies, mismatched and rambunctious.

 _"The runts,"_ one of the breeders, a wrinkled old man with wispy white hair, explained. _"Your father will tell you that they'll never grow up strong."_

_"My father is always right."_

_"Is he?"_

Vincent cast a furtive look towards the silhouette of his father, standing on the far side of the property, engaged in conversation with a couple of other people, breeders or landlords or both. He shrugged and did not meet the old man's gaze.

_"There, there, boy, I won't pry, but come and see my favorite hounds."_

Behind the house lay two dogs. They were huge, drooly things, laying cockroached in the sun. The fur around their noses ran silvery gray and their skin hung loose on their bones. Vincent approached them carefully, and they did not react except to open their milky eyes and lazily thump their tails. He bent to rub at their barrel chests and the tails thumped harder.

 _"They're going on twenty years now,"_ the breeder explained. _"Both of 'em the runt of their litter. Twice as big as any of their sibs."_

_"Really? How--?"_

_"Love and patience, that's all."_

Vincent's hands slowed, settling against the steady, ponderous beat of the dogs' hearts. Soon, the dogs drifted off and began to snore loudly. The snorty rumbling made him smile.

He thought about how small and afraid his father made him feel. And he thought about his mother's smile, a rarer and rarer sight as the years went on, and the warm, shivery feelings it gave him, like he could touch the sky itself.

His mother didn't like the dogs his father kept. She always looked up at Cerberus with a curl to her lip, like she smelled something bad. Vincent didn't think she would like his dogs, either, but he thought she might forgive him because it was like having to clean up before father came home. He had to do what father wanted.

But he could have runts. Little, friendly dogs that maybe even his mother could learn to love.

 _"Will you help me pick ones my father won't..."_ The boy trailed off, then lifted his hands and made a kind of grasping motion, hand over hand, squeezing and twisting. _"...object to?"_

 _"...Oh,"_ the old man said. _"I think I'd better, if that's the case."_

Three little white dogs with black spots, all of them bright-eyed, wet of nose, boundless of energy. His father looked down his nose at their size but could find nothing else wrong with them.

_"You will need to name them before they come before Cerberus."_

Vincent frowned, looking at the wiggling, clumsy puppies that pawed at the bars of their crates and whined the whole ride back. He thought of many names and discarded most of them. Nothing seemed to fit. If he thought of two matching names, he could not come up with a third.

They passed a church close to home. The faded sign out front read, _First Church of Saint Avalon,_ and then Vincent knew what his dogs would be.

One by one, he walked them through the front door and made them sit in Cerberus's line of sight. As he did so, he named them.

_"Hallow, Saint, Martyr."_

The dogs became his constant companions. It did not matter what he was doing, they were there. He struggled to teach three rambunctious puppies the discipline to sit quietly for hours on end while his tutors droned on and on about boring subjects like the dates when wars happened and the numbers involved therein.

Saint was afraid of gunshots and had to be tied to a nearby post to desensitize her because a dog that couldn't come on hunts was no good. Hallow liked to steal random things and bury them under the porch, though frequent gifts of bones kept him occupied. And Martyr... Martyr liked to crowd Vincent's mother, even though she looked down at the dogs with something akin to fear. Vincent never did manage to break that habit.

On a grey, rainy afternoon, Vincent practiced at the piano. He'd been given a complex, melancholy piece to master. His mother sat in her chair, mending socks and calling out corrections. The dogs lay scattered about the room. Saint slept beside the piano, her paws occasionally twitching as she chased dream prey. Hallow lay under one of the side tables, gnawing on a bone. Martyr sat with his chin resting on his mother's ottoman, watching her with big sad brown eyes, thumping his tail any time she glanced his way.

The afternoon dragged on, all tangled up in the flow of notes Vincent couldn't quite get. After a while, his mother's corrections came quieter and slower. He stopped and twisted around in the stool. She'd fallen asleep. Martyr's whine, long and low and mournful, woke her.

 _"Oh, I'm sorry,"_ she said, _"I-- I didn't sleep well last night. Play it one more time for me?"_

_"Yes, mother."_

In the year that followed, his mother slept more and more. Vincent stopped attending his lessons until his father found someone suitable to take care of her.

And Martyr always snuck off to lay in her room. At first, he slept on the rug beside her bed, and growled any time Vincent's father came to visit. Then the dog took to sleeping at the end of the bed. Eventually, he laid with his back pressed to mother's side, gently thumping his tail every time skeletal fingers touched him.

 _"Thank you, Vincent,"_ his mother whispered. _"I think I won't be afraid to look upon our guardian now."_

They buried her on a damp spring day. Vincent and his dogs stayed long after the services to watch two men fill the hole up. It started raining near the end, just a light drizzle that seemed to whisper softly to him, just the way his mother used to.

The dogs followed him through a blur of memories. They snarled and snapped at the encroaching darkness, fending it off. Down and down and down Vincent went, passing through all the troubles he went through, lashing out just as much as his dogs.

After one too many dalliances and uncouth fights, he was sent away to live with his aunt in Kalm. He remembered very little of her, as her health took a sharp downturn within the year. Instead of waiting to see where his father would ship him off to next, Vincent went to Midgar to seek his fortune.

Even before ShinRa’s hold over the city became total, Midgar suffered from overpopulation and exploitation of the impoverished. Vincent’s memories became a haze of alcohol and neon lights and dark alleyway fights that ended in blood and pain.

His dogs did not survive Midgar.

Their ghosts circled restlessly around his heart, protecting it from anyone who might get close. Oh, but he tried to let his guard down. Always, his heart was broken.

Someone shot him for it, in the end.

Vincent opened his eyes with the echo of the gunshot ringing in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of red eyes watching him from the dark. He jerked his face towards it, but it was only the glow of machinery reporting his vitals. A woman slouched in a chair in the far corner, not his long dead mother, but--

“Lucrecia.”

She startled with a snort, jerking her legs reflexibly upwards towards her chest. A book slipped from her lap and hit the floor in a rustle of pages.

"Oh... You're awake. Thank goodness." Lucrecia exhaled noisily, slumping in a loose-limbed sprawl. "Your vitals have been stable for..." The face of her watch glowed in the dark, illuminating her pale, weary face. "Fourteen hours now. I was hoping you'd be up soon."

"How long?"

"Since we last spoke? Umm, this is day six. Ten days total." She stood, making a vague attempt to straighten out her wrinkled clothes and messy hair. "I'm sorry it hasn't been quicker."

Vincent lifted both arms, whole and incomplete. The IV needle prodded at the inside of his good arm, the tubing weighing down his movements. He flexed his hand to work out the pins and needles sensation. Nothing hurt too bad, just the usual aches and pains of existence and a sense of weakness from being prone for so long.

He didn't care much for the sensation of tacky stickiness where wires were stuck all over his body. What lay beneath the blankets in places he'd rather no one looked at while he was helpless didn't bear thinking about.

"...Cid?"

Lucrecia came to the bedside to fuss with the machinery, disabling the muffled beeping. "They moved him to Junon, pending a hearing... Shera's gone ahead to do what she can."

"How soon..."

"...Can we go? Umm, depends on you. I'm going to take the IV out now, okay?" She set her fingertips against his arm, just above where the needle was inserted. "We'll have breakfast, and if you can keep it down, then we'll give walking a go. If everything's fine, then Shera's got a plane waiting for us. We'll go at first light. Okay?"

It hardly seemed soon enough, but Vincent nodded. "Alright."

Lucrecia flashed a quick smile at him, then set to work freeing him from all the wires and tubes. She worked fast, murmuring explanations of what she was doing interspersed with apologies. Vincent gazed up at the ceiling and pretended to be somewhere else.

"Okay!" she said, when everything was gone. "Let's... would you like to get cleaned up and changed?"

"Please."

She helped Vincent sit up, standing attentively close while he waited for the vertigo to pass. Then she guided him into the bathroom. His footsteps were slow but steady. He felt trembly all over, weakened from his prolonged rest, but alive and whole. The siren call of the lifestream was muffled and distant, as it should be.

Lucrecia sat him down on the bench inside the shower stall. She laid out a washcloth, soap, and shampoo, then set the shower head down within his reach. Next, she retrieved his things and set them on the counter nearby. She draped two towels on the handrail near the stall.

"Okay, well, um, there's a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, a brush and comb... You have everything you need for your shower." Lucrecia ticked off all the items on her fingers. "Do you want help?"

"I... Not really."

"Okay, um, I'll be just outside, if you change your mind..."

After she walked out, leaving the bathroom door open a crack, Vincent peeled the flimsy hospital gown off. He flung it outside the stall, then yanked the curtains closed. The shower had limited temperature, going only to vague warmth, and no pressure. Vincent made the best of it, scrubbing away the grime of too much sleep.

His ribs and hipbones stuck out a little too much. Vincent ran his finger along the bones on his left side, musing on the inevitable rant Cid would have. Something along the lines of, _"Ya couldn't find a fuckin' sandwich in the afterlife, Valentine?"_

"...What would _you_ know, Highwind?" Vincent murmured, lifting the shower head to rinse away suds.

The shower took a long time, as did dressing himself, untangling his hair, and brushing his teeth. It left him feeling tired and as old as his sixty-odd years. Still, he managed to exit the bathroom on steady legs. He cradled Cerberus in his false arm, the charm bouncing against the dented metal with every step.

The dog tags were a comforting press of metal beneath his shirt. They seemed to conduct the ache of his heart, turning it into heat that simmered against his bare skin.

The lights were on in the room. Lucrecia had a tray of food waiting for him on the small round table near the windows. She glanced up from stripping the bed to flash another brief smile at him, then went back to work tidying up.

After a cursory glance around the room, Vincent approached the tray to lift the cover. Beneath sat a plain ceramic plate of plain scrambled eggs, unsalted hash browns barely crisped, white toast, and a small bowl of miscellaneous fruit cubes. A warm mug of tea sat beside the plate, accompanied by a handful of sugar, salt, butter, and ketchup packets.

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," Lucrecia admitted. "My tray's in my office..."

Vincent looked at her.

She let out a nervous, helpless sort of laugh and nodded, getting the hint. As she scurried from the room, Vincent sat down with his gun in his lap to pick at the food. It was bland and chewing took a great deal of effort. He was glad for the company when Lucrecia brought her tray back and sat with him to eat. Gladder still for the addition of bacon to his plate, though it wasn't as charred as he preferred, and didn't seem to be from any kind of pig he'd ever eaten before.

After he could stomach no more, Vincent pushed the plate away and sat there for a few minutes with his eyes closed. He knew without looking that Lucrecia watched him closely. The sounds of her eating slowed.

"I understand food is necessary for functioning, doctor," he said.

"Oh! You're one to talk. You barely touched yours."

"I'm still getting used to being made of solid matter." Vincent opened his eyes, hiding the faint upward curl of his lips in his mantle. "Perhaps I would do better to sit out in the sun than try to force undercooked faux pork product down."

Lucrecia laughed. "You're so snooty!"

"No, I think Cid ruined me... Breakfast should have two pounds of grease involved, at minimum."

"Well, Mr. Valentine, let me finish, and then..." Lucrecia popped a soggy grape into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "You can show me that you can walk around the building without collapsing from a deficiency of fat."

As Lucrecia hurried to finish her meal, Vincent stood. He tucked his gun into its holster, then braced his hands on the back of his chair. Standing motionless took little enough effort, though his legs did feel as if too much weight pressed down on them. A queer contradiction to the fact that he'd _lost_ weight.

"Who do I have to thank for the meal?"

"Oh, um, we get them delivered from the Enterprises mess hall."

"I'm surprised."

"They make them per specifications."

"Ah, so you're to blame for the lack of flavor..."

"Yes, yes, as your doctor, it falls upon me to torment you." Lucrecia flapped her hand at him, smiling, and then gulped down her tea. "Alright, um, let's go get my things..."

She led him out of the room, hovering far too close. Every now and then, she stopped walking entirely, watching Vincent as if she expected him to flop over at any moment. He kept moving forward at a slow but even pace, and eventually came to a stop just outside of her lab, looking back at her with his head tilted towards the door.

"Well, how do you feel?"

"Fine."

"No heart hammering, shortness of breath, inclinations towards becoming incorporeal?"

"I might, if you keep nagging."

Lucrecia snorted at him, smiling into her fist. "Okay, um, just a minute. Why don't you walk back and forth... um, two or three times? See if you're still feeling alright."

"If you like."

"Yes, thank you."

She entered the lab, leaving the door wide open. Through it, Vincent could see her shutting down her computer console and gathering up her things--purse and laptop and what looked to be a piece of luggage, of the sort that had a handle and wheels. In the back of the room, he noticed that one of the rehabilitation chambers seemed to be dismantled and packed into a crate. Lucrecia seemed prepared to go to Junon one way or the other.

His heart swelled until it hurt trying to fit inside his ribs. His thoughts skittered away from how much he loved her.

Vincent spun on his heels just a little too fast. Vertigo made his head feel as though it sloshed and whirled. He closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and marched woodenly back down the hall. Back and forth, three times, exactly like she said, not bothering to disguise the clack of his boots and the creak of leather. Announcing his presence without saying anything, just so she wouldn't worry more than she already did.

Lucrecia stepped back out of the lab, locking the door with a flourish. She watched him return on his third round, humming and rocking on her toes.

"And now how do you feel?"

"Tired. I'll sleep on the plane." He wouldn't, but if nothing else, he'd be stationary for the duration.

"Okay, if you're sure."

Once again, Lucrecia took the lead, but she did not keep pausing and looking back, perhaps trusting that he wouldn't fall over. Her luggage wheels noisily clacked across the tiles. Vincent trailed after her, keeping his gaze on the floral blue pattern that graced the sides of the luggage.

She let them out into predawn gloom. Fog coiled around their ankles, momentarily making Vincent doubt he was truly awake. He looked up at the sky and saw the beginnings of dawn streaking the sky with pink. Beside him, Lucrecia locked the doors and gave a testing tug that jangled them.

"Did you need to bring anything else? I can run home and--"

"No, thank you."

"If you're sure..." Lucrecia eyed him up and down, but didn't press the matter any further. "C'mon, we're going over to the main offices to let them know we're ready."

They crossed the parking lot and walked down a concrete path that wound between some low-lying bushes speckled with white flowers. It didn't pay to have trees on an airfield, not with experimental machines and novice flyers. Vincent remembered the creative insults Cid came up with when a landscaper suggested planting trees around the offices for shade... And how Cid struggled with that instinct when it came to their home property, where no airplanes were likely to be landed.

Beneath the yellow light above the front doors, Lucrecia set her luggage flat so it wouldn't roll. She draped her laptop bag's handle over it, but kept her purse.

"If you want to wait out here, it won't take me but a minute," she said.

"Alright."

Another there and gone smile, and then Lucrecia slipped inside. The security guard at the front desk lifted his hand in greeting as she passed. Vincent turned away from the glass doors to look out towards the horizon, watching the sun rise and wondering if Cid got a cell with a window or if he'd been denied the sky.

_I want… to watch the sunrise with you again._


	15. turn to dust

A big woman with bushy red hair marched out of the office with Lucrecia. Bringing up the rear were two short blond men that could have been related to the Highwinds, if not for their green eyes.

"Good to see ya, Valentine," the woman said, slapping her hand against his shoulder. He did not stagger, but he did bow a little under the impact. "We were startin' to wonder if you'd ever get up!"

Vincent straightened, inclining his head towards her. "Valerie."

One of the men stepped forward, hefting a black, plastic bucket with a pattern of bats ringing it. Vincent stared, a little horrified to realize that it was a fruit basket, of a sorts. The contents comprised entirely of strawberries and strawberry confectionaries, as though they'd squirreled away purchases made at the last Strawberry Festival. Or raided the local convenience stores, as most of it was sugary trash of the discount variety.

Valerie nodded towards the bucket. "Had a whip around with the boys for a little get well gift, yeah?"

Vincent glanced sidelong at Lucrecia, who pretended not to notice and busied herself with the task of gathering her things up. Something that suddenly seemed to take her much longer than it ought. 

With the barest flicker of eyelids and a repressed sigh, Vincent accepted the gift. It was heavier than he expected. "That's very kind." He did not say _thank you_ because that would imply gratitude.

"Yep." Valerie dug around in her coveralls and produced two packs of Cid's favorite brand of cigarettes and one of his battered lighters. "This plus a swift kick in the ass'll be for our Captain, if you wouldn't mind the delivery."

"I'll do my best," Vincent promised, as he squirreled cigarettes and lighter away in one of his hidden pockets.

"Good man. Captain barely deserves you. Alright, let's move out, boys!"

Valerie stumped off into the parking lot, heading for a massive red truck. The bumper stickers on the back read things like, _Honk if you want a fistfight,_ and _My other vehicle is an airship_.

The two men piled into the bed of the truck. Lucrecia walked ahead of Vincent, then held the passenger door open with a raised brow, casting questioning looks towards front or back seat. Vincent eased by her to settle in the back, putting as much space between himself and Valerie as possible. He didn't dislike her, but she could be as boisterous as Cid, and far rougher around the edges.

After everyone got in and buckled up, Valerie started the truck with a roar of the engine. She peeled out of the parking lot and raced across the airfield, blasting some sort of twangy country-rock music about murdering a boyfriend. Vincent hunched down into his cloak, clutching his gift bucket, and tried not to throw up.

Fortunately, the ride did not take long. The pilot and her crew members spilled out of the truck outside of one of the many garages. Lucrecia got out a bit more slowly, then leaned into the backseat to peer up at Vincent.

"Still feeling alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay, well, I think you can probably sit here for a bit..." Lucrecia leaned back out of the truck to peer around the door. "It looks like they're prepping the plane."

"Hn."

She patted his knee, then left him alone. Through the curtain of his hair, Vincent watched her wander into the garage, presumably to watch the crew work. He took advantage of the blessed silence to close his eyes and sink down further into the seat.

Eventually, the plane rolled out of the garage and came to a stop on the runway. Vincent got out of the truck and gently shut the door. Lucrecia came hurrying back to collect him and her things. She murmured an endless litany of soft, reassuring things, interspersed with worried questions. He answered none of it except to nod vaguely as they walked towards the plane.

Once they were boarded, their luggage stowed, and properly buckled in, Vincent touched her elbow. “Your concern is noted.”

“You’re such a prat, Vincent.” Lucrecia smiled. “I’ll let you be for now, just… I’m sorry, I can’t help worrying!”

“I know.”

Valerie’s voice came crackling over the speaker system. “Take off in two minutes, or whenever our boy Ron gets his rear down to my truck and moves it.” That last bit was said very pointedly, and answered by muffled male laughter.

Liftoff went smoothly a couple minutes later.

Vincent closed his eyes against the familiar thrum of engines that vibrated through the whole cabin. He tapped his claws against the arm of his seat. He felt simultaneously too exhausted and too wound up, and every little bob and weave made his stomach lurch. Next to him, Lucrecia dozed, her pretty face turned towards the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

Lacking anything to read or anything else to occupy himself with, he soon sank into making a mental list of questions he needed answers for. A lot had happened since his death, and the picture he had of the events was spotty at best.

Near the end of the hours long flight, Vincent thought about dogs, and he thought about an ancestral home lost to time. He wondered if Cid might like to see it.

The plane touched down in Junon around noon, judging by the position of the sun directly overhead when Vincent stepped out onto the tarmac with his gift bucket. He squinted a little, sidling out of the way so that Lucrecia and her luggage could get out. A trio of WRO agents surged forward to collect them.

"Dr. Lucrecia Crescent?" a smartly dressed man at the forefront asked. He glanced over with rather less interest at Vincent. "And... Vincent Valentine. I wasn't aware you were bringing company, doctor."

"He's family with the patient, Agent...?"

"Fritz."

"Fritz, right. We spoke on the phone. Do you happen to know where Dr. Shera Hanlon is?"

"I believe she is with her legal counsel, preparing for the hearing this afternoon..."

"And that is..." Lucrecia lifted her wrist, peering at the watch face resting against the inside. "At 2:45pm?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right. Okay, um, if you could kindly escort us to the patient, I would be grateful..." She turned her head towards Vincent, tipping it towards the agents in askance. "Did you... have any questions for the gentleman?"

"No."

"I have one," Agent Fritz said. Both sets of faintly glowing eyes locked onto him. He did not waver beneath their gazes, and in fact drew himself up to try and stare down his nose at them. "The prisoner is not allowed visitors outside of a mandated checkup. Not even family. Did you think the rules would not apply to you?"

Vincent flicked his claws against the edge of his cloak so it fluttered. Any pithy thing he might say could hurt his chances of seeing Cid without a scandal. The fact was, he could break through almost any set of locks if they tried to deny him. Nothing was designed to keep something like him out for long.

"No, I’m sure they do apply." Lucrecia smiled, too bright and too toothy, a little wild and harried around the edges. The dark bags under her eyes said she hadn't gotten enough sleep recently. "However, Dr. Hanlon already made arrangements with Commissioner Tuesti, so if you're going to be difficult about it, I suppose I'll have to interrupt _someone's_ meeting to find out what, exactly, is going on, and why we're being griefed by an overgrown schoolyard bully in an ill-fitting suit."

Hiding a smile behind the mantle of his cloak, Vincent looked off to the side. Agent Fritz sputtered, going red in the face. The other two agents coughed politely and took subtle half-steps back.

"You want to not play by the rules, Dr. Crescent? Fine. I can just as easily ensure you only get five minutes with the patient--"

"Whatever you like, Agent." Lucrecia grabbed the handle of her luggage and walked past him. "Good luck!"

"Hey, you can't just--"

"She can," Vincent said. "I don't recommend trying to stop her."

Then he trailed after her, cloak swishing behind him. He heard the clatter of agents running after them, but really, it made little difference. They got around to the front of Lucrecia and she just pushed through them like they weighed nothing.

Fritz thought it a good idea to pull his gun, up until Vincent's claw curled around the barrel and _yanked_. The metal twisted in his grip, scored through by claws. He dropped the useless piece of metal, meeting Fritz's wide-eyed stare with indifference.

"This is not a wise career move."

"Come on, Vincent!" Lucrecia looked back, flicking her hair out of her eyes. "I'm sure Agent Fritz has other things he ought to be doing..."

Vincent watched Fritz turn and take off running towards the WRO base. He glanced between the other two agents, who held their hands up in silent surrender before running off to join their superior. Vincent thought that very soon, he and Lucrecia would have problems with security.

He took long, ground-eating strides to catch up with Lucrecia. "Do you know where we need to go?"

"Yes, Shera made sure to send me maps and pictures." Lucrecia patted at her lab coat pockets until she found her phone. She thumbed at it to unlock it, then tapped through one-handed to bring up a map. All while continuing to walk. "She had a time of it too. The guards are really... they're taking their job too seriously."

"How much damage did Cid do, really?"

"The um... almost the entire troop at your house... He didn't kill anyone, but there were a lot of very serious injuries. And mental trauma, of course. It's not, um, you know, every day that a man you respect turns into... _that_." Lucrecia gave one of her nervous little laughs. "But it's so stupid, right, because... he's still Cid. The Captain! I expect they'll try to give him community service or something, but--"

"...He built Rocket Town himself, is that not enough community service for one lifetime?"

"Right!" Lucrecia gestured expansively, as if to indicate the whole of the WRO base. "And all these knuckleheads... they don't appreciate that, or all the work he's done, I mean, any moron can look up how many inventions and patents he and Shera have, and-- It really aggravates me, Vincent, a lifetime of good work and all it takes is _one_ time, one time of, of..."

"I know."

"...We really... ruined his life, didn't we?" she said, softly, as they came to a stop in front of a metal gate.

Vincent could not meet her gaze. "That's for him to decide.”

“...Right.” Lucrecia’s voice lacked conviction, verging on a whisper.

Since he still could not look directly at her, Vincent watched Lucrecia reach for the keypad to the left of the gate out of the corner of his eye. She pressed a large silver button at the bottom, which emitted a low, droning buzz. Silence followed for almost a full minute after.

The speaker on the keypad crackled to life. "State your business."

"Dr. Lucrecia Crescent to see prisoner 1056134." She read the numbers off her phone, but smoothly enough that whoever was listening might think she memorized them. "With my assistant, Vincent Valentine."

"One moment."

One moment turned into five minutes before the metal gate finally slid open to reveal two agents. Vincent recognized the severe-looking woman with close-cropped silver hair--he'd worked with her numerous times on his previous mission. Her name was Brianna, and she was a competent woman that knew when to keep out of the way. She met Vincent's gaze with a slight nod.

The other agent, a younger woman with long black hair, stood respectfully half a step behind Brianna, watching impassively. 

"If you'll come with us to confirm your clearance, Dr. Crescent," Brianna said. "I'm afraid Mr. Valentine doesn't have clearance, which seems particularly strange, if you don't mind my saying."

Lucrecia nodded. "It is, isn't it?"

"I'm certain we can get that cleared up, if you'll bear with us."

Brianna escorted them inside, past an empty lobby, and down a hall to the left. A security checkpoint sat at the end of the hall. The kind where an office with bullet proof glass overlooked the hallway right before securely locked, heavy duty doors.

"Wait here." Brianna indicated a short countertop with a large metal hatch for passing items. "I'll need you to put your belongings through. You understand, there's a no weapons policy in this block."

"Yes, that makes sense..." Lucrecia hefted her laptop bag up onto the counter, shrugging the strap off.

As Brianna headed for the office's door, she shot Vincent a sardonic look, smirking. "Are you going to be okay giving up that hand cannon of yours for a while, Valentine?"

"If I must."

The two agents locked themselves inside the checkpoint. They had a brief conversation, but no sound escaped the room, as the speaker on the glass barrier was disabled. Brianna walked to a telephone on the back wall while the younger agent came to the counter to flip the switch for the speaker.

"Please put your belongings through one at a time..." She sounded bored and muffled.

The metal tray slid out. It was deep enough that Lucrecia could put her whole luggage into it. She passed everything through, including her phone. The tray made a lot of clanging noises between each pass.

The agent went through Lucrecia's belongings. Apparently, she'd brought some sort of medical kit in her luggage, instead of clothing. Vincent settled against the wall to wait, tuning out the back and forth that followed as the agent questioned what each item in the kit was for. He doubted Lucrecia brought anything intentionally dangerous, and he felt a little sorry for the agent having to waste so much time asking for answers she probably didn't care about.

"Okay, good enough," the agent eventually said. She pulled some sort of log book over, made a few hasty scribbles in it, and tore the bottom half of the page out along the perforated line. "I'll have Agent Brianna sign off on this so you don't, uh, have to go through the hassle again at the metal detectors..."

"Thank you very much!"

Once Lucrecia got her things back through the tray, it was Vincent's turn. He stepped up to the counter and met the agent's bored stare. She raised a brow when his first item in the tray was the ridiculous gift bucket. It took her awhile to sort through it all.

"...This is some heavy duty ammunition, Mr. Valentine."

"That would explain the weight."

"Planning something?"

"No."

Lucrecia crowded into Vincent's space, jostling their shoulders together. "Our friends in Rocket Town gave that to him as a parting gift. He hasn't had time to go through it."

"Uh-huh. Well, we have to confiscate any obvious weaponry here. You'll get it back when you leave."

"Fine." Vincent reluctantly shed his gun holster when the tray came back. He ran his thumb along the grip of his gun and down the chain, resting the pad against the middle head of the Cerberus charm. "...I want Brianna to handle this personally."

"Sure, whatever..." The agent pushed away from the counter, going to confer with Brianna, who was still on the phone.

Far down the hall came the buzz of the metal gate opening. Vincent set his gun on the counter, but curled his hand around the grip. He looked over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see Agent Fritz round the corner, followed by six soldiers in combat armor. They all had assault rifles in their hands, the barrels held down at an angle.

"Mr. Valentine!" Fritz called out, coming to a stop halfway down the hall.

Lucrecia laid her hand over Vincent's with a silent shake of her head. Then she slapped her other palm against the glass barrier. "Hey! I want to talk to Commissioner Tuesti, _right now_!"

Brianna passed the phone to the younger agent in a hurry, then came striding out of the office to put herself between Vincent and Fritz. "What's the meaning of this, agent?"

"I've come to apprehend the suspect that assaulted me." Fritz pulled his mangled gun out and held it cradled in both palms. "I had to send two agents to the infirmary."

"Is this true, Mr. Valentine?"

"Hardly."

"Yeah, seems weird that he doesn't have a scratch on him..." Brianna reached into her pocket and brought out a slim black flip phone. "If you have a grievance with our guests, I guess I better call the boss."

Sputtering, Fritz waved his useless gun around. "You're going to take his word over mine?"

"Seeing as he's saved our bacon more than once, I'd say yeah."

The line rang three times. Reeve did not answer, as he rarely did on the first try. Brianna rested the phone against her shoulder, tapping her fingertips on the back of it. The soldiers behind Fritz fidgeted, a little restless as the realization that their time might be wasted set in.

As expected, Brianna's phone rang within the next minute. She answered promptly with, "Commissioner Tuesti, sir, this is Agent Brianna Hills, calling on behalf of..." With a pause, she tilted her head away from the phone. "What is your name, agent?"

"...Fritz."

"Right. Agent Fritz has some sort of grievance with a visitor, one Vincent Valentine. Would you mind sending someone to Block E, sir?"

What followed was a one-sided conversation wherein Brianna said, "Sir," in various tones, nodding along. At the end of it, she snapped her phone shut, stowed it into her pocket, and pointed at the cluster of soldiers behind Fritz.

"Thank you for your time, please return to your posts."

As one, they saluted, and then turned to march back out. Brianna did not move until she heard the buzz of the gate opening and closing again. Then she held her arm out towards the office door.

"Agent Fritz, please step inside. You are to wait until the Commissioner gets here, and I don't fancy leaving you unattended with our guests..." She glanced over her shoulder with a grim smile. "Not that I'm concerned about what they'll do, of course."

Greatly cowed, Fritz slunk towards the door. As he passed Brianna, she stuck her hand out, palm up. He dropped his broken gun into it. Then he was shown to a chair in the far corner, where he was made to look at the wall, rather than the proceedings.

"What useless drama," Vincent muttered, rolling his eyes behind his eyelids.

"Did you do something to upset him?"

"Does it matter?"

“I suppose not.” Brianna stepped up to the counter. "Alright, let's finish checking your stuff, shall we?"

Vincent put Cerberus into the metal tray with the greatest of reluctance. He kept his eyes on the gun, watching closely as Brianna collected it, carrying it almost like a baby over to a large metal safe. She made a point of moving slow and standing at an angle that allowed him to see her put it in the safe and securely lock it up.

After that, he was forced to surrender his belts, his dog tags, his cape, the cigarettes, and lighter. He got everything but the ammo and his gun back.

"Let me see your arm, Mr. Valentine," Brianna said. "I'm sure we both know you don't smuggle anything in it, but protocol demands it."

"Do you want me to just..."

"Lift it up here so the cameras can get a good look at it, that's all, thank you."

Sighing, Vincent propped his elbow on the counter and held the prosthetic upright, turning it this way and that slowly with the claws splayed. He was glad he wouldn't be forced to remove it. Yet, anyway.

"Okay, that will do it."

Vincent stepped away from the counter to put his belts and his cape back on. He was still in the middle of buckling up when Reeve came striding down the hall, in the flesh, without any of his usual toys.

“Vincent Valentine! I--” Reeve stopped just short of reaching out to Vincent, his fingers twitching in the air between them. He cleared his throat. “They told me you weren’t dead, and I… You’re up and about, and… feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Vincent did not meet Reeve’s gaze. Instead, he studied those long, delicate fingers, noting the neatly trimmed nails with no dirt beneath them and the lack of callus. He knew if he looked up, he would see more than the well-meaning concern of a friend. Despite giving his blessings for Cid and Vincent’s engagement and never expressing sentiment otherwise, Reeve still couldn’t help himself.

Unrequited affection was a real bastard to deal with.


	16. or to gold

"Dr. Lucrecia Crescent! Good to see you." Reeve smiled wide, with just the barest hint of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, his eyes slanted nearly closed. The ideal smile of a politician. He stepped forward to shake her hand, laying his free hand over the top of hers. "Thank you for all your hard work. I don't know what we'd do without your expertise."

"It's... It's no trouble at all, Commissioner." Lucrecia's smile struggled under the weight of nervousness. "Ah, if it's not too forward to ask, are there going to be too many more delays? Only, I'm afraid I really do need to run some thorough checks on Cid's health and..." She extracted her hand from Reeve's grip, motioning towards Vincent. "It might do his temper a world of good to know everything's fine? With Vincent?"

The worried look she shot Vincent took him in, top to bottom. Then she nodded, as though confirming that nothing drastic happened in the last few minutes. Vincent continued to lean against the wall, arms folded, distancing himself from the conversation but not slithering away entirely.

Mostly because he could feel the beginnings of a tremor in his limbs. All the travel and standing around and dealing with needless delays put a real strain on him. Outwardly, Vincent kept his posture relaxed and his face blank.

"Of course. Excuse me, I need to have a word with Agents Hills and Fritz, and then I shall see you to Cid personally."

With one last friendly smile cast around the room as if he might hook Vincent into participating in an actual _conversation_ , Reeve moved towards the office door. Brianna opened the door to let him in. On the other side of the bullet-proof glass, Reeve's smile melted away into a stern, if exhausted frown.

As before, the conversations that took place on that side of the glass were muted. Vincent watched Reeve and Brianna interact, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Someone speaking to their superior, without any great signs of aggravation or anxiety.

When it came time to involve Fritz, he boiled up out of his chair, gesturing sharply. His face was dark with barely contained rage that got darker every time he glanced towards the windows and saw Vincent. Idly, Vincent wondered what he could have possibly done to invoke such emotion in someone who did not matter. Fritz's rage was as useless as a fly's.

Reeve said something to Brianna. Whatever it was, Fritz's face went pale, the fight draining out of him all at once. He sank down into his chair in the corner, shoulders slumped.

"Useless drama, you said?" Lucrecia whispered, a little too loudly. She sidled over, hands in her lab coat pockets, and rocked on her heels. "I hope you don't have to see that guy again..."

"It's pointless for him to try anything."

"Well, yes."

Lucrecia met his gaze evenly, her smile gone crooked. Once, her eyes were a molten brown, flecked with gold. Since that incident in the mansion, an eerie ring of mako green surrounded her pupils. Sometimes, the green bled outwards, overtaking everything as the J Cells in her body struggled for control. That happened less and less now, as she had so little of Jenova left in her.

But Jenova's influence remained, irrevocably changing Lucrecia just like Chaos and Hojo had done for Vincent. Sometimes her solutions to problems were as inhuman as his own. Sometimes she smiled wrong and didn't realize it.

Vincent lifted his metal claws, brushing the backs against the side of her face that remained slack. He looked into eyes going too green, searching for the woman behind the monster.

"Come away from those thoughts, Lucy."

"...Oh..." Lucrecia blinked away the moment. She laid her hand against the side of Vincent's metal arm, patting absently. "You're right. Sorry. I'm just so-- _Tired_. I finally get a, a family and... Humans can't let it alone, can they? They're-- we're so stupid and greedy."

" _We_ are, yes."

The look she gave him lingered, searching him for answers he didn't have. Then she nodded, dropping her hand away. "When we see Cid... Let me go in first, okay?"

"Why?"

"Well... I'm his doctor and I'm worried about the treatment he's had and-- um. I couldn't bear it if anything else happened. Shera said..." She wrapped her arms around herself, shrugging. "It got the better of him, I think. The V Cells. So I want to... I have to take responsibility for my part in this, okay?"

"I can't let you go in alone if he's... not himself."

Lucrecia gave a snorty, half-hysterical little giggle. "No, I suppose not. We haven't really tested my limits since... the Lights."

"I'd prefer not to."

"Oh, don't be difficult, Vincent, I'm not a fragile little... Anyway, you don't seem to worry about your younger friends!"

"They don't have to worry about monsters in their heads."

"You know... you're so strange."

Vincent raised a brow. He flicked his forefinger against the metal forearm to make a high-pitched clank. The prosthetic remained a sullen reminder of what he'd been through, visible to all where his scars were not.

"We have these physical enhancements, yet you think they're a weakness... Oh, I _understand_ that it wasn't _fair_ what happened, but, but... we..." Lucrecia caught her bangs in one hand and began to restlessly run her fingers through it, tugging now and then. "...Do we have to live in misery?"

"I don't know." Sighing, Vincent looked towards the security checkpoint. Reeve seemed busy at a console in there, Brianna hovering over his shoulder. "That is for you to find out for yourself."

"And what about you? Are you just... Is Cid okay with that?"

"I'm not _just_ anything, Lucy. I'm..."

He didn't want to talk about it. Lucrecia had a way of cornering him and forcing him to say things he didn't mean because she needed answers in all things. She didn't understand the value of a safeword that said, _slow down_ , or _I can't do this_.

Cid always said stupidly optimistic things that made sense at the time. Things that made other people gravitate to him, eager to follow him into the depths of hell, Vincent included. Not a single one of Cid's usual asinine sayings came to mind.

Vincent floundered internally, freezing under Lucrecia's sad, doe-eyed expression. Finally, he managed to blurt, "...I'm _trying_. That's all."

“Oh.” She tilted her head, studying him as if noticing something for the first time. “...Sorry. I must drive you crazy…”

“...I hear that’s what family does.”

Lucrecia’s laugh still warmed him. Vincent turned his face away, closing his eyes as her tired, snorting-giggles echoed off the cold concrete and metal walls.

As her laughter died down, Reeve came back out of the office with his official robes swishing around his feet for the fast, mincing steps he took. He put his politician's smile on but his eyes remained flinty.

"My apologies for taking so long. Shall we?"

Without even waiting for an answer, Reeve strode over to the door. He swiped his keycard through the pad beside it. The doors slid open smoothly, and he stood back to let Lucrecia and Vincent pass.

"It's really not a problem, Commissioner," Lucrecia said, rolling her luggage along. "I'm sure you, um, have other matters to concern yourself with..."

"None should be so important as my friends." Reeve fell into step beside Vincent, occasionally glancing down at the bucket full of strawberry-themed junk. "...A prank, Vincent? Or have you converted Cid to an all strawberry diet?"

"A well-meaning gift that Cid should be so lucky to help me with."

Laughing, Reeve nodded, holding one arm out to indicate the turn they needed to take at the next fork in the hall. Subtly, Vincent slowed his pace half a step, allowing Reeve to take the lead without being too overt about it. Lucrecia strolled along at Vincent's left, watching Reeve closely and perhaps unconsciously mimicking his stride.

They passed through three more locked doors. At each, Reeve produced a different colored keycard to unlock it. Vincent could not imagine the logic behind not simply having one master to unlock them all. Even if Reeve hid them in different places on his person, all an attacker would have to do would be to kill him and search the body. Perhaps the trick lay in figuring out which card went to which door.

After the third locked door, they passed another security checkpoint. The guards inside stood at attention, saluting smartly, but did not come out or slow the group down. Instead of another solid metal door at the end of the hall, there were two rows of metal detectors. Behind that, criss-crossing red lasers, and behind _those_ , two cell doors, one of which had bars going horizontal and the other vertical.

Reeve did something to the control panel near the metal detectors and the small, blinking green lights on their sides faded. Then the lasers flickered out, and finally the two cell doors slid aside, revealing more hallway but with solid metal doors on both sides.

"There's no need for more delays, correct?" he said, smiling. "We're all friends and I can only assume you intend to take Cid home after the hearing..."

Lucrecia stepped through the detectors and waited on the other side for Vincent. She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. "Commissioner, sir... do you think they'll let him go home?"

"What good would it do to lock one of our planet's greatest minds behind bars? No, I'm certain the jury will see reason... If they don't, well, that's what politics are for."

"That sounds like corruption, Reeve." Vincent drew his cloak around himself, holding it closed with his claws. "Why did your WRO arrest him in the first place?"

"He asked for it."

"What."

Reeve nodded. "It's true. As soon as Cid came back to himself, he surrendered and asked to be locked up. Said he didn't trust himself, since you were gone..."

"I'm not gone."

As he said that, Lucrecia moved closer. Instinctively, Vincent leaned towards her, though he kept his gaze fixed to a point just above Reeve's left shoulder. Still not meeting the other man's eyes lest it give the wrong idea.

"You were. Now you're not..." Reeve brushed his fingers down his front, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. "Really, I'm very glad, but disappointed neither of you thought to warn anyone that he could turn into..."

"We'd only just found out."

"Oh, I see..." Reeve frowned down at his shiny black shoes.

"Measures were being looked into," Vincent clarified, with a glance towards Lucrecia. "What do you know about the people behind the attack?"

"They're from Gongaga. Remnants of the Luz Vuelve that slipped through the cracks."

"Should we expect more?"

"It's still being investigated."

A non-answer if Vincent ever heard one.

He resumed walking first, keeping his pace slow enough that the other two could get the hint before he reached the end and inevitably had to _ask_ where Cid was. Lucrecia hesitated for a second or two, then followed, sneakers squeaking on the slightly damp floor. Vincent was not amused to notice drains set at regular intervals in the middle of the hall.

Reeve hurried to get ahead of Vincent, taking the lead with a soft, rueful laugh and a murmur of, “Really, Vincent, there’s no need to... Here, he's at the end."

Each cell door came with a large horizontal slot, presumably for food delivery, and a computer console set on the wall to the right. Reeve stepped up to the one at the end of the hall but waited, watching the screen. It cycled through three angles of the interior of the cell.

Claw marks gored the stone walls and floor. Spider webbed cracks spread over the tiny window’s bullet proof glass. In the corner, the dented remains of the metal toilet and sink sat in a heap. The exposed pipes dripped but did not spray water everywhere. The floor shone wetly, and the initial deluge might explain the state of the rest of the hall.

On the other side of the narrow cell, someone dragged the tattered remains of the mattress onto the floor, catty corner from the smashed pieces of bed frame still hanging from the wall. Cid lay on his side, half-curled up, with his arms tucked under and over his head. The orange jumpsuit he wore looked like someone took knives to it.

A stack of untouched food trays piled against the door--enough meals for multiple days rotting unattended.

Vincent met Reeve's gaze with all the barely restrained fury of the beast. He curled his lip back, showing teeth as they lengthened. His voice, always a deep burr low in his throat, rumbled even lower.

"How long since anyone checked on him, _Reeve_."

Reeve held his hands up in surrender. "The last time I was personally here, everything was fine. Dr. Hanlon had permission to come and go as she pleases." A little helplessly, he gestured towards the monitor, perhaps meaning to indicate the destruction. "I guarantee that I assigned only the best to oversee his stay, but… It seems he began to refuse the help as his condition worsened. I only just found out today."

It would be exactly like Cid to shut everyone else out, not to protect himself, but to protect others.

“Vincent, I’m sorry,” Reeve said.

Vincent snarled, claws flexing. If not for Lucrecia coming up to his side, deftly touching his elbow to still him, he might have done something regrettable. Put a few scratches on Reeve for his lack of time for supposed friends, perhaps. As it was, he wrenched away, dropping his gift bucket so that a different sort of red spilled out over the floor. He stepped over the gaudy heap of strawberry treats and stalked back down the hall, pacing the unwanted energy off.

"Sir, I-- is there a way to talk to him, through that?" Lucrecia asked.

"Yes, yes, of course. Here--"

"Cid? Cid, it's Lucrecia. I'm coming in, okay?"

Halfway down the hall, Vincent stopped and turned back to watch them open the door just wide enough for Lucrecia to squeeze inside. The door shut behind her with a fairly final clang.

Vincent stalked back towards the door. "Show me how to open it... then get out of the way."

"Vincent..." Reeve sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do--"

On the screen, Lucrecia knelt by the mattress. Cid rolled onto his back with obvious reluctance. Their conversation did not carry outside of the cell, and none of the cameras showed close enough views of their faces. All Vincent had to go by was body language.

"The door, Reeve."

"...Right. It's this button here..." Reeve pointed out one of the larger buttons on the left side of the console, next to where a keycard jutted out. After he retreated several steps down the hall, he asked, "You don't honestly think he's going to hurt her, do you?"

" _He_ won't."

"I see."

Cid sat up and shrugged the upper half of the jumpsuit off, revealing a torso covered in bruises. He cooperated with Lucrecia as she checked him over, lifting one arm at a time, then shifting around on the mattress to present his back. When he faced her again, he put up with her peering into his eyes, ears, and mouth with a pen light.

Aside from the setting, it seemed a perfectly ordinary check-up.

Lucrecia must have grabbed stuff from the floor, as she passed some sort of candy bar in a red wrapper to Cid. He held it in his hands, bent over it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The lights above Vincent flickered and buzzed.

Instead of waiting to see whether it was paranoia or genuine instincts screaming at him, Vincent hit the button. The door clicked and swung open.

Lucrecia stood and turned towards it, "What's--?"

The warning echo of thunder behind her died off as blue eyes met red. Pupils beginning to narrow into slits dilated until black nearly overtook blue. Tears welled up and slipped down tanned cheeks. Cid's mouth fell open and the candy bar bounced off his knees as his fingers went slack.

Vincent stepped into the room, kicking aside the discarded trays of rotted food. The smell was overpowering, underscored by the scent of old sweat and the sour, metallic tang of overfiltered water left sitting.

"Oh, Vincent. Everything's fine, he's just-- made himself unwell." Lucrecia shot a glare down at Cid, who paid it no mind whatsoever. "Eat the granola, Cid. I'm going to get some potions... Then I'll leave you two to it?"

Wordless, Vincent moved aside to let Lucrecia pass. He never broke eye contact with Cid, who continued to not _say_ anything. Neither of them moved until Lucrecia came back.

"...Really, you're both made for each other." She caught Vincent by the metal wrist and tugged until he came with her over to the mattress. "Did you think you were dreaming, Cid? Shera and I wouldn't lie to you, not about stuff like _this_. He's fine, here, look--"

Vincent had to bend as she pulled at his arm, lest she yank it out of the metal socket altogether. She bumped the back of it against Cid's shoulder clumsily, then let go.

"Oh." Cid's voice was thick as he blinked away tears. "Fuck."

"Now, I want you to take these, eat the granola, and… I don’t know, talk or whatever it is manly men do." Lucrecia pushed two bottles of potions into Cid's hands, nudging his fingers until he curled them. "I'm going to have a word with Tuesti about a shower and a change of clothes... We need to make you presentable, if we're going to take you home, right?"

"...Right."

Just before she left, Lucrecia gave a yank to Vincent's cloak. "Please stop pretending to be statuary."

The very second the door slid shut, Vincent said, "I missed you."

" _Fuck_ , you're--" Cid dropped the potions on the mattress beside him. Then he lifted his arms, reaching. "You're not--?"

Vincent moved forward and knelt between Cid's legs. He let himself be pulled in, relaxing into the clinging embrace that involved strong arms tight around his middle and a damp face pressed to his chest. Cid's shoulders shook as he cried. A little awkwardly, Vincent settled his metal arm around the other man's shoulders, running his good hand through sweat-soaked hair.

“Always going to come back to you, Chief."

“Fuckin’... fuckin’ better, starshine,” came the muffled reply.


	17. you will remember me

Long after the tears dried up, Cid continued to hold onto Vincent. He reluctantly allowed Vincent to sit on the mattress next to him, but only if they held hands and sat extremely close together. Vincent didn't mind, though the smells in the room were getting to him.

"Take your medicine, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah."

Cid picked up one of the potions from where it'd fallen to the wayside on the mattress. He bit the top off, instead of separating their hands for even a moment. The plastic cap spun and bounced off the far wall after Cid spit it out.

"Very charming."

"Place's already fucked." Cid shrugged, then downed the potion in one go. He made a face after, dragging his tongue against his teeth. "Oof, shit tastes worse when ya ain't had nothin' to eat."

Knowing full well that it would be hypocrisy to _say_ anything, Vincent nevertheless cast a pointed look towards the pile of untouched food near the door. Cid gave him a cheeky grin around the lid of the second potion. It was duly downed in short order.

As if to demonstrate that he hadn't performed any tricks, Cid stuck his tongue out to show the smear of green on its top. "...Satisfied?"

"I will be when we can sleep."

"Ha... Yeah, this place is a shithole. I kept..." Cid tilted his head back, eyeing the spot where the wall met the ceiling above. "...hearin' shit from everywhere in this damn base. Like it was right here. Drove me fuckin' wild. Or... the beasty me, I guess."

"Soundproofing prison cells for enhanced hearing likely isn't a priority."

"Oughta be. The hell they gonna do if they start gettin' some real bad fuckers all jacked up on mako?"

Vincent shrugged. "Learn the hard way, I assume."

"Fuckin' stupid." Cid snorted, rolling his eyes. "Like anyone gonna catch Reeve with his pants down."

"Hm."

"...Think I fuckin' did, though. He didn't know what the shit to do with me clawin' up the walls."

"Does it feel like victory?"

"Hell no, this is a shitty win."

"Hn." Vincent picked up the granola bar, wrapped in shiny red foil and labeled extensively with its supposed health benefits. "Eat your granola."

"Where the fuck ya even get this?" Cid asked, snagging the bar. "Don't look like shit ya'd buy..." He peered at the ingredients list on the back. "Shit, that's a lotta corn syrup, what the _fuck_. Drinkin' the week old grease from Riza's'd be healthier."

"There's more in the hall if you enjoy eating trash."

"What the hell, Vince."

"They had a... whip around," Vincent said. Despite his best effort to keep his face schooled to blankness, he felt his nose wrinkling. "A gift basket from the well-meaning idiots in your employ."

As he tore the wrapping open, Cid burst into laughter. He bent over his knees, hooting with far more glee than the situation warranted. It verged on hysteria, and every time he seemed to get himself under control, he looked into Vincent's face and then cracked up again.

"Y-- ya... your fuckin'... your _face_! Holy shit, ya look like someone... fuckin' kicked your... your..."

"I'm sure."

The door swung open and Lucrecia peeked around the edge of the doorframe at them. Vincent lifted his metal gauntlet and flicked his claws. Cid, still snickering, waved vaguely with the granola, and then demonstrated eating the thing. That seemed sufficient enough to soothe her concern for the time being, as she nodded and vanished from sight. The door slid shut a moment later.

"Damn, I'm glad to see ya. And her, sure." Cid chewed through another bite, frowning with concentration. "Fuck, my teeth're already hurtin' from this."

"Do you want something else?"

"Iunno. A shower, prolly." A lazy shrug jostled Vincent's arm. "How the fuck are ya here, starshine? I saw ya..." Cid tossed the remains of the granola into the heap of wasted food near the door. "...up 'n vanish, off into the lifestream or some shit."

"I died, yes."

As a blue eyed gaze swung towards him, sharp and frightened, Vincent squeezed Cid's hand. He looked off to the side, towards the fractured window.

"Vince..."

"There are... things I need to tell you. Later." Vincent tapped his foreclaw against his knees, one, two. Took a careful breath, not wanting to breathe too deeply. "...And things I'd like to show you, seeing as it might be best to... lay low for a time."

"Later, then." Cid slouched, resting his cheek against Vincent's shoulder. "Fuck, I'm never gettin' any of my projects done anytime soon, am I?"

Gently, Vincent extricated his hand from Cid's grip. Before Cid could get too tense about it, he draped his arm over the other man's shoulder, shushing with a murmur against his temple. Immediately, Cid relaxed, humming appreciatively.

They stayed that way for several long minutes. Two survivors leaning against one another in the middle of the wreckage.

Vincent eyed the scratches on the floor near his boots. Getting used to the idea that he was no longer alone in the experience of losing control and becoming something inhuman was going to take time. Eternity, even.

"So how'd ya come back?"

"...I can't stay dead."

Cid shifted a little, tilting his head so that he could squint up at Vincent without having to move. "This 'cuz of all the shit that was done to ya?"

"Yes."

Though he should tell Cid about the planet's claim on his soul, the words stuck to the roof of his mouth like his tongue. Vincent closed his eyes, made himself breathe. He hoped that one day, he'd be less of a coward. Cid deserved to know.

"What 'bout me, now that..." Vaguely, Cid lifted his arm, hand curled towards himself. "...I got vitamin V in me?"

Hiding a smile in the mantle of his cape at the ridiculous phrasing, Vincent shook his head faintly. "I don't know."

"Ya gonna put up with me if I don't ever kick the bucket?"

"You can't want to remain this way..." Vincent raised a brow as he lifted his prosthetic, motioning towards the rest of the room with spread claws.

All around them lay very good reasoning not to _want_ to be a beast.

Cid looked down at his hands, flexing them. His breathing hitched, then evened out, deep and slow. Eventually, he twisted his arms this way and that, inspecting bruises that faded considerably as the potion took effect and his enhanced healing caught up. Vincent watched out of the corner of his eye.

"Ya already proved it can be controlled, Vince." Cid planted his hands against his knees and set his shoulders into a straight, tense line beneath Vincent's arm. "I fucked up bad here, but I ain't never been a quitter."

"Are you sure the cost is worth it?"

"Yeah. You're worth it."

"Don't..."

"I'm serious."

Sighing, Vincent sank back until his shoulders rested against the cold stone wall. He curled his arms over his stomach and tried to ignore the dampness sticking to his skin. If he argued what they had _wasn't_ worth it, he'd be lying. The thought of keeping Cid by his side for eternity pinned his heart against his spine. The ache of want was at war with crippling guilt.

"I know," Vincent eventually managed to say. "Don't take it lightly."

"What--?"

"Eternity, Highwind."

"Yeah, all our fuckin' friends and shit gone, right? All ‘cept ya ‘n maybe Lucy."

"Yes..."

Cid scooped up Vincent's hand again, pulling it towards himself. He bent to kiss the backs of Vincent's knuckles. The minute Vincent met those icy blue eyes, he was caught in their depths, unable to look anywhere else.

"Can't stand the thought of leavin' ya lonely, starshine." His voice was soft, breath warm as it ghosted over skin. "So let me stay with ya."

"I..."

The door swung open again. Both Vincent and Cid twisted towards it to see Lucrecia with an armful of towels and clothes. She smiled a little sheepishly.

"Sorry, I'm interrupting, um, but the shower's ready and we're running out of time before the hearing, so..."

"Right." Cid stood, finally letting go of Vincent's hand. One of his knees popped loudly enough to startle Lucrecia. He snorted, flexing the leg. "...Let's get this shitshow over with."

Lucrecia backed out of the cell as Cid walked towards the door. His movements were a little stiff from lack of exercise in over a week. Vincent stayed sitting on the mattress, reeling with the things he still needed to say.

"Ya comin', Vince?"

"Mhm."

Only Lucrecia awaited them in the hall. She noticed Vincent's surreptitious check for poorly concealed robots and bobbed her head towards the bars at the end of the hall. Smiling ruefully, she rolled her eyes.

"The commissioner thought it best to give you some space."

"Ah."

It was likely for the best that Reeve showed his yellow streak once again. The prickly barbs of irritation crawled beneath Vincent's skin. It would not take much for them to gather into one point that boiled over into a howl. His instincts demanded grabbing Reeve by the throat to shake him until he went limp and boneless.

Whether Cid _chose_ to surrender and then refused to cooperate or not, the fact remained that Reeve held the position of power. He should have done _something_ , instead of passively watching while Cid wasted away.

Lucrecia's smile curved up sharply on one side. "Um, won't you please come away from those thoughts, Vincent?"

"...Yes."

Vincent blinked away the growing haze of red, turning his face away from the metal bars at the end of the hall. He met Lucrecia's knowing gaze for a moment, then Cid's worried look, shown in the angle of his body and the downturn of his lips.

"...Alright, starshine?"

"Not yet."

Cid nodded in resignation. Then he shuffled down the hall, pausing to eye the gift bucket. The spill of junk food had been cleaned up and set aside.

"Man, they played ya real fuckin' good, huh?" Cid bent and snagged a packet that contained hard candies in strawberry-shaped wrappers. "The bats're a nice touch."

"Hn."

Grinning, Cid tore the packet open and stuck one of the candies in his mouth. He moved on to where a door stood open to reveal a bathing room, about halfway down the hall.

Vincent and Lucrecia followed. Where Vincent leaned against the door frame to watch Cid wander over to the sink, Lucrecia stood with her back against the wall, firmly out of sight of any further undress. She held the clothes and towels out towards Vincent. He accepted them, then stepped into the room, pulling the door partly closed behind him.

To the left of the door, Vincent found a bench secured to the wall. He took a seat there, setting the pile of clothes next to him. Cid shot him a grateful look with a small smile.

Someone set out a complimentary travel kit for grooming on the lip of the sink. Cid picked through it, idly scratching at the overgrown scruff on his face. He crunched the candy down quickly.

"...Guess I ain't gettin' a shave. No razors for the dangerous prisoners."

"You look fine."

"Like an angry drunk."

"A shower might sort that out."

"Yeah, _might_."

Cid tore the wrapper off the toothbrush, then opened the toothpaste. He flicked the water on and bent over the sink to spend several minutes brushing and re-brushing his teeth and tongue. Excessive use of mouthwash followed.

"Still have all your teeth, Chief?"

"Dunno, ya wanna check the horse 'fore ya ride it?"

Vincent put his face in his hand to hide the flush creeping over his cheeks. The relief he felt for Cid's willingness to crack his usual crude jokes could not be adequately articulated. He settled for, "Go soak your head."

Snickering and looking all too pleased with himself, Cid sauntered over to collect his towels. He blew a kiss over his shoulder as he headed for the shower.

The shower was little more than a shower head above a drain in the corner, with metal railings along the walls. A plastic shower caddy hung from one, loaded with rags, shampoo, soap, and conditioner. Cid draped his towels on a railing, far away from the shower head, then shed the tattered remains of his prison jumpsuit and the underwear beneath.

By that point, most of Cid's bruises faded to faint yellow or brown. Vincent frowned at Cid's back, noting the sheer size of the one spread from shoulder to hip. Cid's beast must have thrown itself against the walls pretty hard to leave lingering marks like that. 

The shower faucet squeaked when Cid turned it. The water that roared out of the head steamed the room up in moments. The spray echoed off the walls, filling Vincent's thoughts with disjointed static. He barely heard Cid mutter curses over how hot the water was. Vincent let his gaze slide away to settle on some fixed point on the floor, off to the left.

The fall of water became indistinguishable from the sound of rain.

Splashing through the mud with his dogs while his mother called despairingly from the porch. Blood on his knuckles and rain in his hair, dripping down the sides of his face. Later, a woman's laughter because he'd got caught out in a summer shower, the kind of sudden downpour that happened while the sun was still out.

The first time it rained after thirty years in the cold dark, he stood with his face upturned and eyes open. His new companions fretted at him, not certain what to make of his weird behaviors yet.

A droplet of water splashed onto the back of his hand. More spattered his boots. A shadow fell over him, drawing him away from the old memories. Vincent blinked slowly, twice, until the sound of rain faded.

Cid stood with his fist against his hip to hold the towel in place. Head tilted with blond hair plastered to his forehead. Dripping absolutely everywhere. "Ya all present and accounted for, starshine?"

"Probably." Vincent flicked his hand, shaking off the water. "...Feeling less like an angry drunk?"

"Kinda wanna _be_ an angry drunk, now that I'm thinkin' 'bout this hearing shit more closely."

"Doubt alcohol will improve the situation, Chief."

“Ain’t got the kinda cash I’d need to get well and truly wasted anyhow.” Cid huffed, lifting the towel to dry properly. As usual, he had not an ounce of shame for his nudity. “Goddamn V cells are fun-haters just like ya, Valentine.”

“A terrible tragedy, I’m sure.” Vincent picked through the pile of clothes for underwear, which he held out. “The door’s not closed, so if you’d kindly put some pants on…”

“Aw, hell.” Cid dropped the towel to take the underwear. He raised his voice, leaning to the side towards the door. “Lucy, ya better not’ve been watchin’, or I’m tattlin’ to Shera!”

“I’m… I’m your doctor, Cid, I’ve already seen everything!” Lucrecia shot back, a little muffled. Vincent was willing to bet she had her face in her hands.

With a laugh, Cid pulled the underwear on. He let the elastic go so that it snapped against his hip. “Well, if ya decide to go back to dudes, ya got my number.”

“You’d… Oh, poor Vincent!”

“Whaddya think, Valentine, I’d make a great matchmaker, right?”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Every pair, guaranteed to be explosive, that’s the Highwind guarantee…” He picked up the pants and flung them at Cid’s head.

Cid caught them before they smacked into his face. “Ha!” He shook the pants out, then frowned at them. “Ah, fuck, the monkey suit.”

The pants were nice, plain slacks in a navy blue. They lacked the usual stains and tears that Cid’s clothes usually had. Cid only ever wore them for the rare formal occasion where he needed to look at least _somewhat_ presentable. Sighing, Cid pulled them on and buttoned up.

“Damn, they ain’t give me a belt, huh?”

“No.”

“Shit... “ Cid tugged at the hem of the pants, fruitlessly. Without a belt, they hung a little loose and slipped back down to reveal the top of his underwear. “This is serious.”

"The lack of a belt is serious?" Vincent tilted his head, already reaching for one of his own.

" _No_ , shit, I mean-- Dressin' me up like this, the hearing's... fuck. What the hell are they gonna do to me? I'm dangerous as hell, can't keep my head on straight if ya ain't 'round, maybe not even then." Cid began to pace, from the bench to the sink. The slacks made whispery sounds as the legs rubbed together. "It'll be normal fuckin' people I ain't ever met decidin' what's up... Ain't gonna be my goddamn people up there, tell you fuckin' what."

"Cid."

Cid slowed and came to a stop next to the sink. He stared morosely back at Vincent. "Yeah?"

Vincent undid the clasp of one of his belts and slid it free of its loops. He coiled it loosely around his hand and held it out. "Whatever happens, now and into eternity, I will always be there. I will free you from whatever binds you, if that is what you need."

"...Oh." Blinking rapidly, Cid crept back. He laid his fingers over Vincent's, lingering, then accepted the belt. "Thanks, starshine..."

"Mhm."

The rest of Cid's "monkey suit" included nice socks, black dress shoes, an undershirt, a white button-up shirt, a navy vest, and a tie decorated with little paper airplanes. Vincent thought he looked nice, but felt the effect wasn't worth it with the way Cid kept fidgeting with obvious discomfort. Better that he be comfortable in his own grease-stained jeans and t-shirts than be forced to endure society's expectations.

Once dressed, Cid went to comb his hair at the sink before it dried out completely. It'd gotten long enough to curl around his ears. Even so, it staunchly refused to lay flat and as it dried, it began to fluff up into its usual messy disarray.

"...Feel goddamn naked, yanno, without my tags and goggles."

"Do you want mine?"

"Nah-uh. Appreciate the thought, but I'd feel better knowin' ya keepin' 'em close to your heart."

"If you're certain."

Nodding, Cid gave himself one last look in the mirror. He patted at himself, smoothing out wrinkles that weren't there. "Sorry 'bout ruinin' your shirt," he said, finally coming over to perch on the edge of the bench. It wasn't really big enough for the both of them.

Idly, Vincent patted at his shirt, brushing away the dried, crackly bits of snot caked on. He felt the shape of the lighter in one of his hidden pockets. There probably wouldn't be any other chance for Cid to get some much needed nicotine, once the proceedings started...

Vincent produced the lighter, flicking the cap open with a flourish so the flame hissed to life. Next, he flicked his brass claws, performing a sleight of hand too quick to follow so that one of the cigarette packs slid from his sleeve into his waiting palm. He had Cid's total, undivided attention as he tore the pack open and tapped one cigarette out far enough. Meeting Cid's gaze, he lifted the filter to his mouth and drew the cigarette from the pack with his teeth.

"Need something, Highwind?"

"...Ya gonna share that shit, Valentine?"

"I don't know." Vincent lifted the flame to the tip of the cigarette and lit. He inhaled slowly, and blew the smoke upwards, denying Cid even the secondhand smoke. "Should I?"

"Are you two _smoking_ in the bathroom, like, like... juvenile delinquents?" Lucrecia demanded, from the hall. "Oh, Gaia, we don't really have time, are you decent yet?"

"Nope!" Cid said, grinning. He made a swipe for the cigarettes. "Naked as the day I was born."

Vincent kept the pack out of Cid's reach, bracing his forearm against the other man's chest to hold him back. For no other reason than because it took Cid's mind off of his nerves, really.

In the background, Lucrecia made disapproving noises. "Well, um, maybe hurry it up?"

"Yeah, fucker, gimme some of that so we can ship the hell out, huh?"

"What will you do for one?"

"'Bout damn near anything, just, fuckin', please, I ain't had one in... shit how many days is it now?"

"Terrible." Vincent shook his head. "Perhaps you'll think of that next time."

"Ya son of a--"

Smirking, Vincent blew smoke into Cid's face. Cid inhaled, blinking rapidly. Then he lunged, not for the cigarette but for Vincent, grabbing a handful of hair in one hand and the side of his face in the other. Cid yanked their mouths together a little too roughly, clacking teeth together and mashing lips.

"Smooth, Highwind," Vincent mumbled against Cid's lips, tasting blood and smoke. The too long scruff on Cid’s face tickled and scratched distractingly, too.

"Fuck off." Cid shoved his tongue into Vincent's mouth as gracelessly as a teenager after his first date.

With a huff, Vincent pulled away, dragging his tongue against the back of his teeth. He tilted his head back to deny Cid from attempting again. "Do it properly or not at all."

"Oh, excuse fuckin' me, c'mere."

Vincent squinted one eye closed, narrowing the other to a slit. Warily, he studied Cid while taking another drag. But he let himself be pulled back in when Cid slid his hands to the back of his neck.

The next kiss was better, tongues and lips moving together with the right amount of teeth. Vincent sighed, deepening it, and when he felt Cid's hand close over his, he surrendered the cigarette without a fuss.

Cid had the decency to not abandon him immediately, lingering over the kiss until they needed to part for air.

With a cocky grin, Cid took a long, deep drag of the cigarette with his eyelids fluttering shut. He groaned happily, exhaling smoke. "Fuuuck, I needed that."


	18. just one mistake

As Cid finished his cigarette, he slouched down against Vincent's side. His eyes slid shut, breathing slowing with the last few pulls. Vincent knew he should say something, but did nothing, letting the other man begin to doze. Gently, he plucked the butt from between slack fingers before it could fall. He stubbed it out against the side of the bench, then flicked it towards the sink.

Out in the hall, the click of dress shoes on the concrete marked Reeve's return. Vincent didn't bother listening too closely to the conversation, only idly noting Reeve's questioning tone of voice and Lucrecia's stumbled hurry to answer.

Cid grunted, cracking one eye open briefly, then fell back into a doze. Within the next minute, he snored softly. He got to sleep for maybe three or four minutes before the bathroom door swung open.

In stepped Reeve, wary. He quailed under the squinty stares of two sets of inhuman eyes. "My apologies, but we really must be going. Cid will need to convene with his legal counsel and prepare--"

"Fuck." Cid rubbed his cheek against Vincent's shoulder, pillowing further. "Fuck me sideways."

"Not now," Vincent said.

"Hah. That a promise, Valentine?"

Reeve coughed politely, edging back towards the door already. Just as well, Vincent supposed. The urge to do something unseemly out of petty revenge was strong, and the results would only be more headaches.

Vincent stood, twitching his cloak to straighten it out. "We'll discuss it later."

"Yeah, sure." Cid planted his hands on the edge of the bench to push himself up. Then he stood there, one eye squeezed shut and the other barely open, tense and unmoving. Eventually, he said, "...My legal counsel plannin' on discussin' feedin' my ass? Or givin' me the mercy of some goddamn tea? Hell, I'd take some coffee..."

"Do you need Lucy to look at you, Chief?"

"Nahh... Be fine, prolly."

Reeve produced a phone from somewhere. "I'll make arrangements for something to be brought in. You'll have to eat quick."

"Fine with me, let's get this shitshow movin'."

The three men piled out of the bathroom in single file. Lucrecia straightened from the wall across from the door and dusted off her coat. She flashed a smile at Vincent and Cid after Reeve walked by without slowing. The smile said, _get a load of that guy_.

Smirking into his mantle, Vincent strayed to collect his gift bucket. He didn't particularly care about the contents, but he was growing fond of the stupid plastic with its colorful bats on the side. As soon as he fell into step with Cid again, Cid filched a candy bar from the top of the pile.

"Huh, this shit's actually got less sugar in it than the fuckin' granola."

"Does it taste like garbage?"

"Let's find out."

Cid tore part of the package off, looked around for a trash bin, and, when he didn't find one, shot Vincent a cheeky smile. He nodded towards the back of Reeve's head. Reeve was totally preoccupied with his phone conversation and unlocking the gate. He never noticed when Cid tucked the bit of trash into his shirt collar.

"Oh, you--" Lucrecia smothered her laughter into the back of her hand and shook her head emphatically when Reeve looked back questioningly.

They walked on, retracing their steps. Vincent watched Cid nibble the obnoxiously pink chocolate bar with minimum faces made. To a backdrop of their footsteps, Lucrecia's luggage rolling across the floor, and Reeve's continued conversation, which seemed to comprise of mostly nonsense words that barely formed coherent sentences, the group walked all the way back to Brianna's station.

She was waiting for them with Cerberus cradled in her arms. "Mr. Valentine. Everything as you left it." Brianna held the gun out. After he took it, she pulled the boxes of ammo from her jacket pockets and passed them over as well. "Try not to shoot the jury."

Solemnly, Vincent said, "I won't."

Brianna smirked at him, and then nodded politely at Cid. "Don't come back to visit unless you're a free bird, Captain Highwind."

"Ya kiddin', I ain't fuckin' visitin' this prison block again." Cid folded the candy bar wrapper up into a neat little square, frowning down at it as he worked. "Ain't nobody to shank."

That made Brianna laugh, a short, sharp bark. She cleared her throat after, rubbing her finger under her nose. "Right. Best of luck."

"Thanks."

Cid waited until Brianna turned away before slipping the wrapper into Reeve's shirt. It unfolded a little bit so that it became wedged between shirt and jacket collars and did not fall. Reeve never noticed a thing.

“Top that, Valentine.”

“Oh, don’t, Vincent,” Lucrecia pleaded.

Reeve snapped the phone shut and stowed it away in a pocket. He spun towards them, smiling brightly. “Everything’s been arranged, so let’s get to the meet… What’s wrong?”

Without preamble, Vincent upended the contents of his bucket over Reeve’s head. The junk food and candy spilled everywhere, harmlessly bouncing off and tumbling to the floor. Reeve stood frozen and wide-eyed. Cid howled with laughter, doubling over, and Lucrecia squeaked, burying her face in her hands as she tried very hard not to laugh at the most powerful man in the world.

Vincent leaned towards Reeve to hiss, “You should be grateful I’m not spilling anything else.”

Reeve went very pale, except for the dark spots of red smattering his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "I-- right, I should... give you some space, then?" He took several steps back and dislodged a few smaller pieces of candy from his shoulders. "Clearly I've upset you somehow."

"Somehow?" Vincent flexed his claws. "A friend gets put in _your_ jail, and you don't see fit to check on them yourself. _Somehow_."

The laughter died down. Cid moved up to Vincent's left, digging his shoulder against Vincent's arm. Lucrecia took the right, though she didn't press quite so close.

"Steady, starshine."

"Don't, Vincent..."

"I had other matters--" Reeve looked between the three of them, half-pleading. Then he sucked in a breath, brushing his hands down his front in one sweep. Just like that, the icy exterior of a politician slid into place. Reeve straightened up and stared into Vincent's face, not quite meeting his eyes. "Look, I _know_ , I should have... but the well-being of the entire world doesn't go on hold because one of the old gang gets themself in over their head."

"Ah. The greater good," Vincent said, bitterly. He tucked his face into his mantle, taking deep, slow breaths as he let his face go slack and his voice flatten. "Yes, of course."

"C'mon, we got other shit to deal with. Ain't like s' _all_ Reeve's fault, anyhow."

Cid took Vincent by the hand, heedless of the sharp edges of claws. He tugged and took a step forward, then waited, looking expectantly back. Vincent stayed exactly where he was until Lucrecia touched his other elbow. Reluctantly, he looked from brown-and-green eyes to blue, and nodded.

"Fine."

"I'll have someone--" Reeve started to say.

"No, I think you're fuckin' comin' with us, Reeve, to finish what ya started." Cid jutted his chin out, working his jaw side to side. "Else ya gonna be out a few friends and ya can explain to the others how 'zactly ya fucked it up."

"...Right."

Turning on his heel, Reeve walked woodenly down the hall. His back was ramrod straight and he didn't look back once. He went through the motions of opening each of the locked gates on their way in moody silence.

And the whole time, Reeve never noticed the stupid glittery red candy wrapper crinkling in his collar.

Vincent kept his gaze fixed on the wrapper. Instead of lingering over the urge to lash out, he focused on the occasional tug to his prosthetic, to Cid bumping their arms and shoulders together with every step. Lucrecia on the other side, hesitant at first, but soon slipping her arm through his. Their physical presence kept him grounded.

Guiltily, Vincent recalled Cid telling him to hug Lucrecia once in a while, the night before his most recent death. She always hovered uncertainly, never quite closing the distance even though she clearly wanted to. Even as they walked, she kept casting furtive looks up at him, as though she expected him to wrench his arm away.

Vincent bent his elbow, catching her hand so that their fingers entwined around the plastic bucket handle. He did not look at her, though their procession slowed when she stumbled in surprise.

"Oh!" Lucrecia ducked under Cid's concerned look. "Um, sorry. Long, uh, day, no sleep. You know... Don't mind me."

"Don't fall on your damn face, Lucy, fuckin' speak up if ya need a break."

"I'll be fine! Anyway, you’re one to talk..."

“Damn fuckin’ right I am.”

Though it was difficult to keep track of where they were going through the maze-like halls, Vincent suspected they wound their way around the prison block. Their destination was just south of it.

Reeve came to a stop in front of double doors. He knocked before pushing them open. Inside, a cluster of people in expensive suits sat with Shera at the end of a long table covered in paperwork, open briefcases, and various personal devices like laptops and phones. On the other end of the table, trays held a coffee pot, a teapot, mugs, and all the usual fixings. Next to them sat two large, grease-spotted brown paper bags.

The minute she saw them enter, Shera interrupted her intense conversation with one of the older gentlemen. She pushed up from the table, smiling with the corners of her eyes crinkling.

"Captain!"

"Hey, Sher." Cid let go of Vincent to make a beeline for the food. He picked up a mug and poured himself tea first. "Drawin' up plans?"

Shera nodded towards the people in suits. "Yessir."

"Gentlemen, ladies," Reeve said. "If you'll excuse me." He ducked away and beat a hasty retreat, pointedly not looking at Vincent as he went.

 _Like an offended cat,_ Vincent thought, not certain whether to be amused or annoyed.

"Oh, shoot, we had questions for the Commissioner." Shera snapped her fingers. "It's not important, I guess. Go ahead and keep working without me, folks, I need a minute to catch up."

To a chorus of "yes, ma'am"s, Shera rounded the table. She held her arms out towards Lucrecia, who immediately released Vincent with one last pat to the back of his hand. The two women hugged.

"Missed you," Lucrecia mumbled into Shera's shoulder, practically bent double to do it.

"Same to you." Shera eyed Vincent over Lucrecia's shoulder. "Glad to see you were successful!"

The two women parted and Lucrecia gestured towards Vincent, smiling. "I guess he just needed more sleep, or something. He kept unraveling anytime I tried to wake him up..."

Shera moved closer to Vincent to stare up into his face. Her glasses glinted in the fluorescent lights. She put her hands on her hips, sticking her lower lip out with a big, comical frown. "Don't scare us like that again, Vincent."

"I'll try not to," Vincent said.

Not very subtly, he took a step away from Shera, towards Cid. She had no compunctions whatsoever about crowding him and her hugs could crack ribs when she got too enthusiastic. Judging by the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, she was barely holding herself back.

"Good! I'm glad." Shera swiped the back of her hand against her eyes, pushing her glasses upwards in the process. Then she smiled fondly at Lucrecia when the other woman offered a handkerchief. "Oh, I'm fine, I'm not going to start crying _now_. We still have a battle to fight. Cap--"

"Aw, fuck yeah, breakfast burritos!" Cid crowed, rifling through the brown paper bags. He came up with a large, foil-wrapped burrito, piping hot. Halfway through tearing the foil off, he noticed everyone staring. "...What's up."

"I take it you want to follow someone else's orders on this, Captain?" Shera asked, sweetly.

"Uhh... I ain't know a goddamn thing 'bout court of law, yanno that."

"Uh-huh. Maybe you should learn, since it's _your_ life on the line..."

"C'mon, gimme a break, I'll just fuck it up and then where'll we be. Bottom of the fuckin' Mithril Mine without a damn burrito to my name, that's where!"

Shera tossed her head back, laughing. Beside her, Lucrecia sank into the nearest chair, face in her hands to muffle her giggles. Vincent shook his head, bemused, and pulled one of the grease-stained bags towards himself with his forefinger.

"You really think they'd let you near their precious mithril? You don't know the first thing about digging!"

"I could damn well figure it out, can't be that damn hard."

"Sure, Captain, whatever you say. Eat your food, I'm going to get back to it... And, um, maybe practice _not_ cussing today."

"Ugh, fuck me in the ass with this shit..."

" _Cid_."

Cid shot a toothy grin at Shera, gesturing with his tea. "Go on, Sher, go be brilliant and save my dumb ass."

Rolling her eyes, Shera turned away from him. She bent to kiss Lucrecia on the cheek, patting her shoulder. Then Shera went back to all the fancy suits at the end of the table and the conversation filled with complicated legalise resumed.

Vincent tuned it out in favor of sitting as far away from it as possible to pick through a chorizo and jalapeno burrito and to nurse a scalding hot mug of plain black coffee. Cid flopped into the chair next to him. Across from them, Lucrecia leaned over the table to drag the tray full of coffee supplies towards herself with two fingers. She hummed as she fixed herself a cup.

"What d'ya think?" Cid asked, between bites.

Raising a brow, Vincent glanced over. He held his coffee mug up to his lips but did not take a drink yet. "About?"

"Me workin' in a mine."

Vincent snorted softly, causing ripples on the surface of his coffee. He took a sip, then set the mug down. "I think the foreman will be begging me to come collect you within a week."

"That's giving a little too much credit," Lucrecia said. "Sorry, Cid, but you're... a little..."

"Go on, out with it, y'all fuckin' rarin' to take shots at me any chance ya get." Despite his words, Cid grinned. "What the hell'm I?"

"Umm... I'm not sure--"

"Abrasive," Vincent offered.

"Can't ya just fuckin' say I'm an asshole."

"No."

"I was going to say, um, cantankerous." Lucrecia looked off to the side. She cradled her coffee mug in both hands as she lifted it for a deep sip.

Cid jabbed his finger in her direction, wagged it, and then picked up his burrito to take a few vicious bites. Bits of food went everywhere, but since Cid made sure to bend forward over the table, he managed not to get any on his nice clothing.

After he finished chewing, he thumbed his nose. "Fuckin' bigass words. Y'all fall out of a goddamn dictionary?"

"If you read more than articles pertaining to rocket science..." Vincent flicked a stray piece of egg away from his part of the table. "...perhaps your vocabulary wouldn't suffer so."

"Oh excuse fuckin' me, Valentine." Cid caught the bit of egg and ate it. "Not all of us are natural born geniuses that can figure out goddamn trajectories and wind speeds and all that shit on instinct or fuckin' magic demon senses."

Smirking, Vincent lifted his hand, forming a finger gun. He mimed taking aim at Cid, but didn't even pretend at firing.

"Fuckin' Denzel, teachin' ya that." Cid stuck his tongue out flat and rolled his eyes. "Can't wait to see what other goofy shit them kids get ya doin'."

"Until I met them, I didn't know... that, um, well, Vincent _liked_ kids," Lucrecia said.

"I don't."

"Just them," Cid clarified. "'Cuz they like really noisy fungus, growin' on ya whether ya like it or not. And if ya don't like 'em... Well, they got, what, fuckin' three parents? Take your pick on which one ya wanna get your ass kicked by."

Lucrecia laughed quietly. "I think I'll pass."

"What 'bout ya, Vince, who'd ya wanna fight?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Aw, come the fuck on."

"Is this normal, wanting to fight your friends?" Lucrecia raised both brows, glancing between the two men. "I thought they were practically family..."

"Sure are, but that ain't mean we don't wanna beat their asses black 'n blue for being numbskulls." Cid crinkled up his foil into a ball and tossed it towards one of the paper bags. The paper rustled as he made the shot. "Two fuckin' points."

Vincent said, "I would win."

"...Fuckin' cocky, ain't ya?"

Vincent shrugged a shoulder. He rolled the remains of his burrito up and set it aside. Then he nudged his half-finished coffee away and sat back in his chair, folding his arms beneath his cloak. Food no longer had any appeal. The smell of it turned his stomach uneasily, but he wasn't about to ask for it to be removed, nor did he like the idea of leaving Cid's side for a long time to come.

"How 'bout all three of 'em at once?"

Having seen the Seventh Heaven trio fighting side by side on numerous occasions, Vincent knew they were formidable. He frowned some as he ran scenarios through his mind. Of the three, Barret could be considered the weak point-- but not because the man _was_ weak. He was brash and reckless, and tended to fire wildly instead of making each bullet count. With Tifa and Cloud at his side, Barret would make a great distraction, giving them time to close the distance on their target...

"Shoot Barret right above the grafting port, catch Tifa's kick, swing her into Cloud's sword."

"Oh, it's that fuckin' easy, issit?"

"Potentially." Vincent lifted his gaze from the table top to meet Cid's eyes. "The challenge is not killing them."

"They're tougher'n ya givin' em credit for, Vince."

"Perhaps."

"Hey, Captain!" Shera called. "Will you come over here? We need to go over everything, get you up to speed..."

"Yeah, alright." Cid pushed back from the table and stood. He braced his palm against the edge of the table to lean down towards Vincent. "I'd take Barret, just 'cuz he bein' a stubborn ass 'bout coal still."

"Ah. Were we discussing _reasons_?"

"Nah, but we both know I'd let the other two flatten me any day if we weren't spoken for."

"Crude, Highwind."

"Yep!"

Cid planted a kiss against Vincent's temple, then sauntered off. He flopped into the empty chair next to Shera and sat with his limbs akimbo, the very picture of belligerent disinterest, if not for the sharp eyed way he studied whoever spoke.

"You're not jealous?" Lucrecia asked, running her finger tip along the rim of her mug.

Watching the easy way Cid interacted with others always made Vincent feel cold, like he was caught in the shadow of some greater being. The sensation cut like a knife whenever Cid flirted, even knowing that he never meant any of it.

“No,” Vincent lied.

_He doesn't need to know._


	19. all it will take

The hearing took place in a room across the hall, about twice the size of the one they'd just left.

Along the upper walls, computer monitors equipped with cameras streamed the proceedings to the jury, scattered all over the world. A panel of three judges sat behind upraised desks on one end of the room. An empty chair sat in front, with its back to the judges. A legal transcript had a desk in the corner near the judges, fingers poised over their laptop keys. Reeve sat in the other corner, seemingly bored already.

The prosecution and defense had desks facing one another about ten feet from the judges, with ample space in between to serve as the stage. Cid was cuffed at a podium that faced the judges, ringed by WRO agents that held their rifles at rest. Witnesses and audience members, few as they were, sat in rows of chairs on either side of the doors.

Shera and two of her lawyers took to the defense's desk. The other lawyers chose to wait out in the hall owing to the limited seating. The prosecution consisted of two men in pristine suits with the WRO patch on their shoulders and a number of medals on their chests. Vincent didn't know either of them and didn't think much of their peacocking.

Vincent and Lucrecia claimed the chairs closest to Cid, though it put them up front and next to the aisle. Other members of the audience included familiar faces from Rocket Town, Yuffie, who threw a victory sign at Vincent from across the aisle, and countless members of the WRO, many still in casts and bandages.

When the last of the audience filed in to take their seats, a pair of agents shut the doors and took their posts in front of them. The middle judge, an older woman with dark hair streaked with silver, conferred briefly with her companions, then raised her voice to call out, "Are all present?"

"Yes, ma'am," the defense and prosecution chorused.

"Very well. Let us proceed."

The judge to her left, a young man in a slightly oversized suit, set a timer on a digital clock. At the first second to tick by, it chimed three times, signalling the beginning of the proceedings.

"The time is now 2:47pm, June 24th, 0014," he said. "Court case #0229RT: Captain Cid Highwind versus The World Regenesis Organization. The three judges presiding are Antal Orban, Giselle Thorne, and Sarah Kelley." At each name, he motioned towards the person in question. After a pause for the legal transcript to finish taking everything down, he added, "Defense, please state your names for the courts."

The older man to Shera's right stood. "Joel Werner, defense attorney."

After he sat back down, Shera rose. "Dr. Shera Hanlon, the Captain's chosen executor of will."

The last of the three, a plump woman with a severe face, finished off the introductions with, "Isadora Tiryaki, legal advisor."

"Thank you.” Judge Orban nodded, then shifted around in his seat to face the other desk of lawyers. “Prosecution, your names?"

"Major Tyron McMay, prosecution assigned by the Junon Court District." the gray-haired man on the left said, standing to salute.

The younger man mirrored the posturing. "Lieutenant Raoul Hunt, also assigned."

"Very well. Prosecution, please state for the court the accusations against the defendant."

Tyron McMay stood up with a packet of papers stapled together. He read from them in a steady, commanding baritone. "On June 14th, 0014, Captain Cid Highwind and his spouse sent out a distress call to the WRO, citing home invaders. Officers--"

"Excuse me," the middle judge interrupted. "Who is his spouse?" She glanced towards the defendant's table, at Shera.

The lawyer flipped through his papers. "Mr. Vincent Valentine. May I continue?"

"Is he present?"

"I was told he died on the scene."

"If the defense may interject?" At the judges' nods, Isadora stood and pointed towards the audience. "Mr. Valentine is there in the red cloak. As you can see, he’s very much alive. He has not consented to be questioned as a witness."

All eyes turned towards Vincent. He stared straight ahead, at Cid's back.

"Is there a reason he declines to take the stand?" Judge Kelley asked.

"Any answers he gives may be seen as biased, not to mention the fact that it is on record that he is unfit for public speaking, as per his registry with the WRO as a part time employee."

The judges whispered among themselves. The older woman, Thorne, leaned forward to peer around Orban. "Commissioner, care to confirm this statement?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Reeve smoothed out his robe where it fell over his knees, offering a smile that was somewhat sheepish. "As part of his contract, Vincent Valentine stipulated that he was not to be subjected to interviews, conferences, etcetera. This includes publicized court proceedings. Our psychiatric staff confirmed that it would be a detriment to his mental well-being."

"Very well." Judge Thorne sat back, fiddling with a pen. She glanced between the other judges, then turned her gaze across the court. "Mr. Valentine, this is your last opportunity: do you wish to be called to the stand as a witness?"

Before him, Cid stood silent and stiff-backed, tense enough for the faintest tremor. Across the way, Shera and her lawyers watched Vincent with barely concealed worry. Beside him, Lucrecia nudged her thigh against his, her fingers clutching at her coat to tug restlessly at the cloth.

"...No." It pained Vincent to say it, to not act out on Cid's behalf, but he knew better than to put himself in the line of fire.

“Fine. Prosecution, proceed with the accusations.”

Somewhere behind Vincent, someone murmured, "What kind of person wouldn't defend their partner?"

He clenched his fists beneath the folds of his cloak and pretended not to hear that, or the other person that whispered off to the right, "See, even his husband knows what kind of monster he is..."

"It's not true," Lucrecia said, lowly.

All the while, Tyron McMay read out an extensive list of accusations, beginning with, "Aggravated assault against the officers of the WRO, resisting arrest, property damages," and going down a long, long list of names of the victims. He concluded with, "And finally, under the recent court rulings of Luz Vuelve versus Gaia, all mako and J-enhanced super humans are to be registered in the databases. It is the prosecution's belief that Captain Cid Highwind refused registration and concealed his ability to transform his shape, thusly endangering others."

Vincent blinked. He'd never heard of such a thing before. He leaned towards Lucrecia, keeping his gaze on Cid's back still. "Are we on that?"

"Yes. All three of us." Lucrecia kept her voice to a whisper, low enough that none but another with enhanced hearing might pick it up. "Cid's didn't have the new changes added yet..."

"Ah."

Vincent did not voice the paranoid thought that jangled in his head. A registry made them easy targets for extermination. He just had to trust that humanity knew what it was doing...

In the meantime, finding out more about their attackers and who sent them became more and more of a priority the longer Vincent thought about it. Their invasion came at the worst time, costing Cid his hard-earned reputation. He wanted nothing more than to tear into those responsible one bloody fistful at a time. Their deaths would be long and painful, with drawn out screams that would grace his sweeter nightmares for years.

After the prosecution finished their statements and sat back down, it was the defense's turn. Werner took the lead, reframing the case as such: "Captain Cid Highwind only learned about his change of condition the day before, and was in the process of seeking treatment and notifying authorities..."

His voice droned on, heartfelt and impassioned. Vincent tuned it out, becoming aware that the younger prosecutor--Hunt--was staring at him while whispering to his partner. Likely, they were disappointed that he couldn't be used as a witness. Or they had something to say about his non-death.

The proceedings dragged on and Vincent sat silent and stony through it all. Witnesses were trotted up to give their testimonies. Tearful accounts from the victims that weren't still in the hospital, well-meaning anecdotes from friends and neighbors from Rocket Town, and Yuffie boisterously refusing to be led into saying something that could hurt Cid's case.

"You've worked with Captain Cid Highwind and Mr. Vincent Valentine for how many years, Miss Kisaragi?"

"Um, let's see... Seven years?" Yuffie counted on her fingers, tongue tucked between her lips. Then she nodded with a big grin. "We save the world on the regular, you know!"

"Reports indicate that Mr. Valentine is not always human. Has he ever actively been a danger to you?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"That's not the question--"

"Right, I'm alive and well, and I still have all my parts exactly where they're supposed to be, thanks to Vincent's help."

"Next question, prosecution," Judge Thorne said.

"Yes, Your Honor." Tyron cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Were you aware that Captain Highwind could also transform?"

"No, that's new."

"I see. Has he always had mako enhancements?"

"Nope."

"When would you say that he got them?"

"He hasn't been enhanced like that." Yuffie shook her head, her short hair flying from the force of it. "Cid fell into mako just before we took down the Luz Vuelve."

"And that was... in 0012, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Did he show any signs of mako addiction? Aggression, irritability, impulsiveness, or other signs of illness?"

"He wasn't any grumpier than usual." She shrugged a shoulder carelessly. "Same ol' Cid, just with glowing eyes."

"I see. Thank you." Tyron stepped back towards his desk, looking irritated. "The prosecution has no further questions for the witness."

"Does the defense have any questions for Miss Kisaragi?" Judge Thorne asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," Werner replied, getting up. He rounded the desk and came to stand in front of Yuffie with his hands behind his back. "Miss Kisaragi, the prosecution asked you if you ever felt endangered by Mr. Valentine. Could you tell me how many times Captain Highwind and Mr. Valentine have saved your life, or actively helped you in some way?"

"Way too many times to count." Yuffie gesticulated widely. "They've been like family!"

"How like family are they?"

"Umm, like, I can show up at their house and they've always got a spare bed for me. I don't ever have to worry if they're around, they've got my back."

"Are you ever afraid around Captain Highwind and Mr. Valentine?"

"Not really, no. Like, you have to be careful when Vincent transforms 'cuz he gets all beasty, but... it's not any different than dealing with an annoyed chocobo. Give him space and it's fine."

"Alright, thank you. The defense has no further questions."

"Miss Kisaragi, you may take your seat." Judge Kelley motioned towards the chairs at the back of the room. "Next witness, please."

On her way back to her seat, Yuffie put both thumbs up, smiling at Cid. He nodded at her, not daring to say anything.

The next witness was another WRO agent, one that worked with Vincent in the past and apparently held a grudge for the "great mental trauma" he inflicted on them for transforming "recklessly" near them. Vincent thought them ungrateful to be alive, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

Eventually, Lucrecia’s name was called. She sucked in a ragged breath, trembling and not getting up right away. Vincent touched the backs of his knuckles against her knees, palm upturned. She seized his hand, gripping tight.

"Keep your eyes on us, Lu."

"Okay. I will."

Lucrecia bobbed her head, breathing deep, then let go so she could stand and make her way across the courtroom. Once seated in the chair in front of the panel of judges, she sat with her hands in her lap, looking everywhere but at the prosecutor before her. Shera was frequently her focus, though she sometimes looked to Vincent and Cid.

Instead of siccing Tyron on her, it was Hunt who paced before the witness chair, idly flicking through a thin sheaf of papers. Lucrecia kept casting furtive glances at him, warily watching his back and forth.

"Dr. Lucrecia Crescent..." Hunt came to a stop directly in front of her, cutting off her view of Cid and Vincent. "Would you mind telling me what your doctorate is?"

"Biotechnology and medicine, sir."

"Thank you. Are you currently employed?"

"Yes."

"...And what is it you do, Dr. Crescent?"

"I, um, I run a clinic for those affected by mako in some way, out in Rocket Town."

"That would make you the only one who treats those specific ailments, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is there any reason you're stationed in Rocket Town, and not in one of the larger cities, where your services might be more accessible?"

"My... my family is in Rocket Town, sir." Lucrecia turned her head towards Shera, twisting the hem of her lab coat in her hands. "Um, and, if I might say... Rocket Town isn't exactly the sticks. My office is, quite literally, on the airfield of the most advanced--"

"Yes, thank you."

"No, I would like to hear the rest of what she had to say," Judge Kelley said.

"I concur," the other two judges echoed.

"Um, okay... I was just saying that, um, well, you all know Rocket Town is the center of air travel, so... Either my patients come to me, or I go to them. I'm not that far removed from the rest of the world. And the WRO _is_ stationed there..."

"Thank you, doctor." Judge Kelley nodded, bending to make a note with pen and paper. She waved her other hand dismissively. "You may continue, prosecution."

"Right." Hunt cleared his throat and stepped aside, extending a hand towards the defendant's podium. "Are you Captain Highwind's doctor of choice, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you know the details of his medical history and his enhancements?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"When he discovered his ability to transform, did he inform you?"

"The very next morning after his first change, sir."

"And what actions did you take, on first learning of his new ability?"

"Well..." Lucrecia tucked a stray lock of hair behind her right ear, looking across the courtroom at Cid. "First, we discussed his related symptoms--"

"What sort of symptoms are we talking about?"

"Oh, um, nightmares, increased appetite, a loss of time, injuries he didn't remember getting... Vincent--his spouse, sir--filled me in on what he saw of the first change as well, citing Cid's shape and abilities. He, um, informed me that even though Cid couldn't _remember_ anything, Cid regained lucidity quickly. That is, um..."

"He regained control of his facilities as a beast and could have been aware of his actions?" Hunt prompted.

"Possibly, yes. I wasn't there, so I cannot confirm for certain, sir."

"No, that's fine." Hunt flipped to the next page of his packet of papers. "If I may deviate some from that topic... Do you know the origin of Captain Highwind's change?"

"Um, yes."

"Okay, I'd like to get to that in a minute, if the court will bear with the next set of questions, they're very important to understand the full context of the situation..."

"Get on with it," Judge Thorne said, in a warning tone.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Hunt paced off to the side, pointedly planting himself so that he cut off line of sight to Shera. Lucrecia shrank under his stare. "Dr. Crescent, what was your occupation previous to establishing your own clinic?"

"I... I was a biotechnologist for ShinRa, then called, um, ShinRa Manufacturing Works."

"What sort of work did that entail?"

"We..." Lucrecia sucked in a breath, bowing her head. Her hair fell into her face and her shoulders shook. "That is, the biotechnology department specialized in the study of... of organic systems with the intention of improving the quality of life for mankind. Um..."

"Could you give an example of that?"

"Well, um, biotechnology is a broad category that can include anything from the domestication of animals to, to, cross-pollinating crops to produce new cultivars, to... the production of pharmaceuticals and home products. Um, medicine."

"What did the ShinRa corporation have your department doing, specifically?"

"We recently discovered mako energy, and the existence of the, um, the Promised Land. And we thought... we thought we found a Cetra, frozen in ice."

"One of the Ancients, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did ShinRa have a name for this supposed Cetra? This specimen?"

Lucrecia lifted her head slowly. She met Vincent's gaze across the room and held it. Even from that far away, he could see the glow of green beginning to overtake her eyes. He shook his head faintly, mouthing, _come away,_ and she seemed to get a grip on herself.

"Jenova."

The consternation that rippled through the courtroom at the name was immediate. Hunt nodded with self-satisfaction, as though he'd dealt a great blow to the defendant's case. Vincent’s fingers flexed against the grip of his gun. His thoughts ran red and bloody.

"Prosecution, are you planning on getting to your point anytime soon?" Judge Orban demanded, over the thud of Judge Thorne's hammer against the desk and her calling for order.

"Yes, Your Honor, if I may continue?" At the assenting wave of hands from the judges, Hunt stepped close to the witness chair. "Dr. Crescent, were you involved with the Jenova project?"

"...Yes, sir."

"What was your involvement?"

"I... I was... I was subject L, sir. My husband..."

"What is your husband's name?"

"His name was Hojo."

"Okay. That would be Professor Hojo of ShinRa's science department, for those unfamiliar." Hunt turned towards the audience, spreading his arms wide until the murmurs died again. Then he turned back to Lucrecia. "What did being subject L entail in this project?"

"I'm... Um, I was... I was pregnant." Lucrecia folded her arms around herself, clutching at her upper arms. "My husband... _coerced_ me into becoming a test subject. To inject J Cells into. ShinRa wanted a living Ancient to find the Promised Land..."

"So you are the first person in the world to have been injected with these J Cells?"

"Yes... sir."

"And did your child survive?"

"I. Yes."

"What was his name, doctor?" Hunt said, with infinite gentleness.

"...Sephiroth."

The outbreak of noise became too great. Judge Thorne’s hammer and shouts had no effect at all. Judge Orban slapped the top of the timer, stopping it. It rang shrilly, cutting through the din.

“Court will take a ten minute recess,” Judge Kelley called out. “Anyone unable to control themselves will be held in contempt of the court.”


	20. go down in history

During the recess, Cid was escorted down the hall to a small room with a table equipped with a metal loop on its surface. His armed guards secured his handcuffs to the loop, with just enough slack that he could sit, but only if he bent forward. Then they took positions out in the hall at either side of the door.

Shera marched into the room with her chin up and her arm around Lucrecia's waist. She guided the taller woman over to the chairs on one side of the table to sit and hold her while she wept. Vincent brought up the rear, firmly shutting the door in the faces of the lawyers who wanted to use the break time for going over their strategy.

"Shh, honey, it's okay," Shera soothed, rubbing her hands against Lucrecia's back. "You're gonna be alright..."

Lucrecia's sobs were nearly silent, but for the sharp hitches of breath. Her whole body shook from the force of repressing any noise. An old, painful habit from her long nightmare in the Nibelheim mansion.

"Fuck this goddamn fuckin'--" Cid yanked at the cuffs, glaring down at the metal. If he wanted to, he could break them, but it would only get him in trouble. "Lucy, darlin', I'm sorry they're goin' after ya like this. S'my fault."

"Nuh... no, it's... it's not."

Vincent came over to lean against the corner of the table next to Cid. He glared at the wall behind Cid, arms folded and teeth grit. Outwardly, he knew his expression was mostly blank, like always, but for the narrowed slits of his eyes.

" _Fuck._ "

Exhaling sharply, Cid slumped against Vincent's side, resting his head somewhere between rib and hip bone. He turned his face to bury it into the ragged cloak, breathing uneven. His body shook for different reasons than Lucrecia's, skin beginning to ripple with the threat of a change.

"Steady, Chief."

"...Gimme a goddamn cigarette, starshine," Cid rumbled.

"Alright."

"Can... can I have one?" Lucrecia asked.

"Mhm."

Vincent produced the lighter and cigarettes with none of the earlier playfulness and flourish. He tapped one out, put it between Cid's lips, and lit the tip. Once Cid had his going, Vincent slid the pack and lighter across the table to Lucrecia. She put her hand down on them to stop them from sliding off the edge.

"Thanks... Do, do you mind, Shera?"

"No, you look like you could use it." Shera swiped her fingers under Lucrecia's teary eyes with a gentle smile. "Just promise you won't become a nicotine factory like our beloved Captain."

Lucrecia let out a humorless snort of laughter, while Cid put both middle fingers up in Shera's direction.

The nicotine helped to calm them both.

When the bell rang to call court back into session, Cid walked straight backed and blank-faced to his spot behind the podium and Lucrecia kept her head up and her watery eyes down all the way to the witness chair. Vincent sank into his own seat to stare daggers into the back of Raoul Hunt’s head as the prosecution rose to resume questioning.

Hunt stood off to one side in a neutral, relaxed stance, with one hand in his pocket. "Dr. Crescent, before the recess, you confirmed that you were involved in the Jenova Project, which was the precursor to ShinRa's SOLDIER program, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"After Sephiroth's birth, were you still involved in the Jenova Project?"

"No, sir. I was... given maternity leave, though I wasn't... I wasn't allowed to see my son."

"I see. And after that?"

"Professor Hojo continued to report that I acted as... as an assistant to the project, for the look of the thing. For the records. ShinRa only checked up on us once a month or so..." Lucrecia kept her head down, gaze on her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap.

"What were you doing, then?"

"Um. I... Vincent had been shot. I was trying to... to save his life."

"How so?"

"He was in a catatonic state, sir, and... before the Jenova Project, I worked on the Chaos Thesis alongside Dr. Valentine."

"Any relation to Vincent Valentine?"

"Yes, sir, Dr. Valentine was Vincent's father."

"I see. What is the Chaos Thesis?"

"It's, um, the study of the planet's final WEAPON, Chaos."

"And why was this pertinent to saving Mr. Vincent Valentine's life?"

"Well, sir, um... Hojo... did things to Vincent's body, without anyone knowing. He... Hojo kept changing his--Vincent's-- shape. It was erratic, and..." Lucrecia shrugged, the barest lift of her shoulders. "I thought that I could control it with Chaos."

"Control it..." Hunt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, drawing his hands from his pockets. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How, exactly, did you intend that?"

"Well... not me, personally, controlling it, but allowing Vincent to regain control of his shape. Um." Lucrecia rubbed her hands together, dragging the fingers together as if to rub something grimy off. "So, um, a few years before the Jenova Project, Dr. Valentine tragically lost his life in the study of Chaos. We successfully managed to extract it from the lifestream."

"You... extracted a WEAPON from the lifestream?"

"It didn't have a physical form, but yes."

"I hope you intend to get to the point sometime soon, prosecution," Judge Thorne said, tapping her hammer in the palm of her hand. "This has been quite the fantastic tale, but I'm failing to see how it has any bearing."

"A few more minutes of patience, please, Your Honor." Hunt nodded at Lucrecia. "How did you use Chaos to save Mr. Valentine's life?"

"I... gave Chaos a host. Vincent was catatonic, with no chance of revival without help, so... You have to understand, I wasn't trying to _experiment_ on him, I was trying experimental medicine to try and revive him. I had a procedure prepared to extract Chaos again if... it was too dangerous, or if I could get Vincent stable again without Chaos."

"I see. And did it work?"

"No, not until I... acquired the protomateria."

"What is the protomateria?"

"It was a materia that allowed the user to... I suppose bond with Chaos and Omega."

"Omega?"

"Another WEAPON."

"How did you acquire this materia?"

"I found it in a hidden cave southeast of Nibelheim."

"And how did you _know_ about it?"

Too late, Lucrecia realized the trap that Hunt had steadily been leading her towards. She lifted her head and stared up into his face, mouth hanging open.

"I..."

"Please tell the court how you discovered the existence of this very convenient materia, Dr. Crescent."

"...I dreamed about it."

"I see." Hunt paced away from her, towards the audience, folding his hands behind his back. He shook his head slightly, as though coming to a very sad conclusion. Ruefully, he looked into the audience's faces. "Is it not a common symptom of those infected by J Cells to suffer delusions? To hear voices? To... act upon them?"

"...Yes, sir."

Hunt turned back towards Lucrecia, still standing across the courtroom from her. "Let us jump ahead to 0012. The question I keep coming back to: how did Captain Highwind gain similar abilities as Mr. Valentine?"

"I..."

"There was an incident in Nibelheim, wasn't there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you tell the court what happened, please?"

"Um... Vincent returned to his cabin to retrieve something for us. A database, with, with information about his prosthetic. It was damaged, you see, and Cid meant to repair it..."

"Go on, please."

"And... Some of the Luz Vuelve found out where Vincent's cabin was. They... sought revenge, I suppose."

"Ah, the gang out of Costa del Sol that was discovered to have been illegally producing mako. Did they succeed?"

"No." Lucrecia shook her head. "They... they burned his cabin down, and he transformed to chase them into the mountains. Cid and I flew from Rocket Town because we were worried about him. And... We found him. In the mountains."

"Did he recognize either of you, while transformed?"

"I don't know, sir," Lucrecia whispered. "But... he was busy fighting the Luz Vuelve and..." Finishing her sentence became too much. She dropped her face in her hands with a muffled noise, shoulders trembling.

Hunt strode over, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He held it out pinched delicately between forefinger and thumb without looking at Lucrecia. "Might I give Dr. Crescent a moment to collect herself, Your Honors, and finish enlightening the court on the events of that day?"

"I'll allow it," Judge Orban said, to the nods of the other two judges.

After Lucrecia reluctantly accepted the handkerchief, Hunt turned back to the audience. "Mr. Valentine turned on Captain Highwind that day. Highwind was critically injured in the altercation. Dr. Crescent and Mr. Valentine acted fast, taking Highwind's body to the basement of Mr. Valentine's ruined cabin. There, Dr. Crescent once again performed human experimentation."

In the stunned silence that followed, Hunt paced the full length of the courtroom, pausing to stare down his nose at the defense and at Cid. When he came to a stop in front of the judges, he spread his hands, as if to say _what can you do?_

"The prosecution posits that Dr. Lucrecia Crescent acted maliciously in order to produce a new breed of super soldiers, at the behest of the alien entity known as Jenova. It is the prosecution's belief that not only did Captain Cid Highwind attack the WRO with intent to kill, but he did so as part of a greater plot, and that both he, Mr. Vincent Valentine, _and_ Dr. Lucrecia Crescent pose a threat to humanity at large."

To the uproar from the audience, Vincent surged to his feet. Before him, Cid yanked too hard on the podium, snapping the bars and the handcuffs both. Bits of metal pinged off the floors and walls. Within seconds, he had two assault rifles shoved up under his chin, stilling him.

“Fuck, alright, sorry I broke your shit, here--” Cid thrust his wrists out towards the nearest Agent, pressed together with fists loosely curled. He never took his eyes off Lucrecia.

It was gratifying to Vincent to see Reeve gone shocked and pale in the far corner. He’d gotten up so fast he knocked his chair over. Not a shred of his usual composed politician’s smile remained.

"Order! I will have order!" Judge Thorne shouted, rising from her seat. "The court will take another twenty minute recess.”

Judge Kelley added, “Bailiffs, please secure the defendant, as well as Dr. Crescent and Mr. Valentine.” She leaned forward on her elbows to peer down at Lucrecia, then shot a sharp look towards Vincent. “They’re not being charged with anything yet, so my advice is that they should cooperate.”

WRO Agents closed in on Lucrecia. She was too stunned to move, her eyes wide and blazing green. Her mouth worked soundlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. To anyone who didn't know her well, it might look like guilt. To Vincent, it looked exactly like the face she made when she found him in Hojo's basement laboratory.

Lucrecia lifted her wrists up, pressing them together, and made no move to resist when one of the agents handcuffed her. She remained sitting with two Agents on either side of her, their guns at resting position.

Other agents penned Vincent in. Still others herded the audience out of the courtroom. Yuffie protested loudly, shouting, "This is crazy! How can you say such stupid things!?"

Eventually, only the judges, the lawyers, too many armed WRO Agents, Reeve, Cid, Lucrecia, Shera, and Vincent remained in the courtroom. Silence descended.

The WRO Agents around Vincent stared tensely. One, a younger man with gingery red hair, held his hand up. A pair of handcuffs dangled from his forefingers. "Please surrender your weapon, sir."

Vincent threw his cloak back on the right side, settling his hand on the butt of the gun. Immediately, he was staring down the barrel of no less than four assault rifles, with more behind him judging by the click of safeties.

"Never to someone I do not trust."

"Stand down, Agents," Reeve said, striding forward. "That is not a weapon to be handled by just anyone. It is far too dangerous."

"Sir."

Reeve exhaled once the guns were lowered again. He met Vincent's gaze for a moment, then looked at a fixed point off to the side, his mouth drawn down. He looked... tired. "Name the person you would entrust its care to, and I will see it delivered."

Vincent glanced at Cid's back, then to where Lucrecia sat, and finally at Shera, penned in by her lawyers. None of his first choices could safeguard for him. His… family was _trapped_ in this, and damn the whole world if they couldn't get out of it.

"...Since you are needed here, _Commissioner,_ I choose Yuffie."

Reeve blinked, startled. He opened his mouth, then shut it, nodding. "I... Agents, please allow Yuffie Kisaragi entrance, she has a mission of importance."

"Sir." One of the Agents snapped off a smart salute, then marched off to fetch Yuffie.

She came back in a hurry. "What the hell is going on!? You can't be serious with this--"

"Yuffie," Reeve and Vincent said, at once.

Yuffie squinted at them, closing her mouth. She soon re-opened it, gawking, when Vincent unstrapped Cerberus from his leg and held it out to her, holster and all. The silver charm swung between them, the three-headed dog spinning, spinning, spinning...

"What--?"

"I need you to safeguard it while I am in custody."

"Oh, Vincent, this isn't _fair_..."

"Life rarely is."

"Don't you dare get convicted, you broody jerk!" Yuffie took the gun in both arms, hugging it to her slim belly. "I expect you, and Cid, and Dr. Lucy to all be okay and-- We were supposed to go see Nanaki soon, right?"

"Yes."

"So don't take too long!"

Vincent inclined his head, silent. He would make no promises he couldn't guarantee being able to keep.

"Yuffie, I know you want to see the end of this." Reeve produced a silver keycard marked with a cartoonish picture of a black and white cat. "But it would be inappropriate for his weapon to remain in the room... Please, feel free to watch the rest in my office."

"Oh, man... This _sucks_." Yuffie dropped her head back, sighing dramatically. Then she straightened, shook herself out, and grabbed the keycard from Reeve's hand. "Okay. I got this."

As Yuffie left, Vincent turned his head to watch her go. Though he was far from disarmed, he never could shake off the feeling of emptiness that came with being without a gun. He fought off the urge to chase after her, to snatch it back, to gun everybody with objections down.

The jangle of metal nearby drew his attention back to the agents surrounding him. Vincent thinned his lips out and offered up his wrists. Cid already demonstrated that such things couldn’t hold them, but perhaps the charade reassured the Agents that he wasn’t going to resist.

“Agents, please remove the defendant's stand and bring in some chairs,” Reeve said. He shook his head, clearly disgusted. “This ridiculous farce won’t last. Excuse me, I need to have a word with the judges…”

Two Agents rolled the broken podium out of the room. They came back with chairs, which they lined up where the podium once stood, facing them towards the judges. The Agents herded Cid into the middle chair, Lucrecia into the left, and Vincent into the right. Three Agents stood directly behind, and two on either side of the row, all of them armed.

“Do any of you require anything? Water, ma’am?” one of the Agents asked, not unkindly. She wore a flowy silk scarf draped around her head and neck, hiding her hair. She kept casting sharp looks at her coworkers, as if daring them to object.

“...Wa… water would be nice,” Lucrecia mumbled. “Thank you.”

The woman left, walking at a brisk pace that made her boots ring off the concrete floors. She came back in short order, offering a paper cup half-filled with water. After Lucrecia drank it, the Agent took the cup to dispose of it, but not before whispering, “Hang in there.”

With a sad, tired smile, Lucrecia slouched, listing to the right. Her head settled against Cid’s shoulder, her long bangs hiding her face. Gradually, a tremor overtook her body, skin beginning to ripple.

“Fuck, Lucy. This is a hell of a mess we’re in, huh?” Cid set his cheek against the top of her head. Softly, he began to sing, ”Lucy, I know what you’re going to do… Oh, Lucy, look what you’re doing, I’m doing it too.”

One of the Agents knocked the barrel of their gun against the back of Cid’s chair. “Sit up straight and be quiet.”

Vincent glared over his shoulder, memorizing the Agent’s face. Doughy, with a thin scar curving over the jaw, making the scruffy brown hair smattering his cheeks look very scraggly. “Don’t interrupt him.”

“I--”

“Shut up, Tolley,” another Agent said. “None of us would be alive if not for them, so just shut your damn mouth.”

With a sullen glare, Tolley _did_ shut his damn mouth. Vincent turned to face straight ahead, setting his shoulder firmly against Cid's. To the background of Cid's sometimes off-tune crooning, Vincent watched Reeve have what appeared to be a very intense whispered argument with the judges, and then the defense. He doubted even the Commissioner of the WRO could put a stop to the legal justice system once it hit its stride.

Little by little, Lucrecia calmed down. Her body did not twist and contort into nightmarish shapes straight out of eldritch horror films. She stayed as she was, leaning on Cid because Shera couldn't come to her, and waited in silence for the world to finish crashing down.

"Could use another cigarette," Cid grumbled. "And some tea, fuck."

"How are your bartering skills, Chief?"

"Pretty good, but I'm bettin' ya mean behind bars." Cid shrugged his shoulder against Vincent's. "Ain't been, 'cept sleepin' overnight in the tank once or twice for bein' a loud asshole. And this." He glanced over, raising a brow. "How 'bout ya, got a rap sheet somewhere, Valentine?"

"They didn't recruit Turks from upstanding citizenry."

"Ha, right."

The WRO Agents around them shifted a little, putting half an inch or so more of space between themselves and the accused. Vincent could not repress the slight curl of his lip, sliding his eyes nearly shut.

Everyone knew: once a Turk, always a Turk... and Turks protected their own.

When court resumed, the audience was not let back in. The clock chimed out over a nearly empty room as Judge Thorne called, "Court is now in session."

"Before the break, the prosecution leveled some very serious accusations against Captain Highwind, Mr. Valentine, and Dr. Crescent." Judge Kelley flipped through her notepad, drumming her pen against her lips. "I would like to hear from the defense at this point and time."

"Your Honors." Werner stood with his palms flat on the desk as he peered up at the judges. "The defense was not given the opportunity to question Dr. Crescent, but would like to request the opportunity to do so at a later time, owing to her obvious distress."

"Fair enough," Judge Orban said. "Do you have another witness or evidence instead?"

"We would like to call Dr. Shera Hanlon to the stand. Given that the prosecution was allowed to take up so much of the court's time, we would like to ask for your patience as well."

"Very well."

Shera crossed the room to take the witness's chair. She sat with her knees together and her hands folded in her lap, the very picture of prim and put together. The total opposite of her usual persona, but Vincent had seen her do it before. She had a knack for maneuvering through the business world and catching her opponents off guard by feigning docility until the time came to strike.

Werner came to stand before her, off to the side with one hand against his hip. "Dr. Hanlon, how long have you known Captain Highwind?"

"We met when we were teenagers, in the academy."

"The Academy of Sciences here in Junon, correct?"

"Yes."

"Were you close?"

"Not at first, no. We were classmates pursuing similar majors. A group project forced us to work together, and we hit it off because he wanted to go to space and I wanted to build rockets."

"You've been friends since?"

"Yes. After the war, he won the grants for the ShinRa rockets, and we teamed up."

"Are you more than friends?"

"Family, maybe." Shera smiled politely. "We lived together for seven or eight years while working on the rockets, but we were always like siblings."

"Has the Captain ever made you feel unsafe?"

"No. He has a foul mouth and doesn't always think before he speaks, but... He's saved my life more than once."

Werner nodded, thoughtful. He tapped his foot a few times, as if the slow rhythm might jog his memory. "When did you meet Mr. Valentine?"

"In 0007. AVALANCHE came to Rocket Town looking for a plane, and potentially a pilot."

"What were your first impressions of Mr. Valentine?"

"Quiet, a little weird, very polite."

"Did you become friends?"

"Not until much later." Shera shook her head, then pushed her glasses back up as the motion made them slip down. "After Meteorfall, Vincent would vanish for days and weeks at a time, and none of his friends knew where he went, but he always came by Rocket Town to visit Cid first."

"Did it ever seem like they were up to something?"

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know. I never pried. They were two grown men who’d go off drinking or hunting or whatever. They seemed sweet on each other, but that's about it."

"Alright." Werner motioned behind him, towards Lucrecia. "And Dr. Crescent--when did you meet her?"

"In 0012, Vincent showed up on my doorstep in the dead of night. He had her all bundled up in his cloak. She'd just been revived from... thirty odd years of sleeping in mako."

"Did she ever show signs of mako addiction? Aggression, withdrawal symptoms, etcetera?"

"She had nightmares, but so did the rest of us." Shera gave Werner a wan smile and a slight shrug. "No, once she started regaining her strength, she just... developed a voracious appetite for reading and learning. A lot of history to catch up on."

"Understandable." Werner nodded. "Tell me, how many patents do you and Captain Highwind have together?"

"At last count? Roughly twenty-five."

"All pertaining to aerospace?"

"And a few pertaining to the oil that we used to replace mako in our engines, yes."

"And how many times would you say Captain Highwind or Mr. Valentine have put their lives on the line to protect the lives of others?"

"More than I know about, I'm sure."

"Do you know the extent of Dr. Crescent's research and work?"

"She was instrumental to understanding Jenova and Chaos, she is the foremost expert on mako enhancements... I think she said she had around two hundred patients, all over the world."

"Right. If anyone would like more concrete details on what those three people have done, they can surely look it up for themselves." Werner walked towards the prosecution's desk, arms swinging at his sides. He stopped there to peer up into the monitors, as if he could see the faces of the jury through the cameras. "But it's safe to say we owe a fair bit to AVALANCHE and to Dr. Crescent's efforts to better the lives of our veterans and addicts."

"Do you have a point?" Judge Thorne asked.

"Yes, Your Honors, forgive me for a bit of showmanship, seeing as the prosecution has had its dog and pony show..."

"Objection!" Tyron stood up sharply, slapping his hands on top of the desk. "That's libel."

"Overruled. Prosecution, please sit down."

Werner tilted his head, face a stony mask of polite disinterest. "Your Honors, does it not seem odd that three people who have been instrumental in this planet's progress and well-being should suddenly be involved in a conspiracy to destroy all of their hard work?"

"Do you have evidence to refute it?" Judge Orban asked.

"More than the prosecution provided, we hope." Werner moved towards the judges' desk. "I would like permission to ask Mr. Valentine and Captain Highwind to demonstrate their ability -- or lack thereof -- to transform at will."

"What, exactly, will that prove?"

"If Captain Highwind cannot transform, it would certainly lend itself to the idea that it is a recent, unexpected development, would it not?"

"Perhaps, but how will you prove that he doesn't simply refuse to change?"

"What does he have to gain by being found guilty, Your Honors?" Werner motioned towards Reeve, sitting in the corner. "The Commissioner has kindly offered us the use of one of the WRO's training rooms, where we can view the data readings on the energy within. It will be quite plain if Captain Highwind makes no attempt to change."

"And what will you do to prove that Dr. Crescent holds no sway over them?"

"If she is amenable," Werner said, turning his back to the judge's desk to look at Lucrecia. "We would like to put her in a Stop stasis for the duration of the test. If her control is necessary for the transformations, then that will be evident in the energy readings as well."

"Do you consent, Dr. Crescent?" Judge Thorne asked, sitting forward.

"Y... Yes, ma-- Your Honors."

The judges leaned towards one another, conferring briefly. Then Kelley nodded. "Very well, the court will take another brief recess to rejoin at the training room."


	21. i can't stop

The WRO moved the courtroom halfway across the base, setting up chairs, desks, and cameras for the jury in the observation deck overlooking one of the training rooms. On one wall, the computer consoles displayed a complex array of data. All of the energy readings showed flat lines or 0s or blank space until someone entered the training room to make adjustments, then there were flickers of activity.

Vincent and Lucrecia sat together, still handcuffed, and watched as Cid was escorted into the training room below. Rather than undo his cuffs outright, an Agent handed him the keys. Then they left, locking the door behind them.

"Dr. Crescent, I'm going to activate the Stop materia now," the Agent in the scarf said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The glow of an incorporeal clock appeared before her, and then she was locked away. For thirty long years, Vincent looked upon Lucrecia's frozen face, trapped behind mako crystals. He couldn't help but reach out to brush time-frozen hair away from her face. The cuffs securing his wrists together jangled.

Reeve, at one of the computer consoles, pressed a button and leaned forward to speak into a microphone. "Cid, I'm going to set a timer for five minutes. When you hear the bell, please try to transform."

Down in the training room, Cid flopped both hands down with some of his usual swagger. Then he busied himself with undoing the handcuffs. Once freed, he went to set them and their key by the door.

Five minutes with nothing to do must have seemed an eternity for Cid. He paced the training room restlessly. The readings showed steady spikes, but occasionally the whole thing jittered wildly.

"What we're seeing here is likely stress," Reeve explained. He pointed at various high points in the graphs. "Cid is the kind of man who prefers to keep busy."

Vincent tapped his fingers against the inside of his thigh, hunched forward so that his hair fell around his face. His eyes tracked Cid's every movement. All he could do was pray that Cid wasn't worked up enough to successfully transform...

Finally, the bell rang.

Cid stopped in the middle of the training room, hands on his hips. He tilted his neck one way, then the other. Vincent couldn't hear it, but he'd witnessed it often enough to imagine the cracking noises. Cid did a few stretches, raising his arms above his head and twisting this way and that, then focusing on his legs, as if he meant to run a marathon.

The readings steadied out.

"All readings normal now..."

Then Cid straightened, spreading his feet. He took his usual fighting stance, throwing a fist behind him as if he held a spear. His mouth opened in a scream silenced by the thick layers of concrete and shatterproof glass between him and his audience.

A whirl of mako green energy spun in a circle at his feet, the wind flapping his tie and ruffling his hair. Reeve practically jumped out of his chair, hands braced on the computer console as he stared closely at the rapidly fluctuating images on the monitors. Jagged spikes went off screen and numbers blurred by.

"Commissioner, care to explain what's going on?" Judge Orban asked.

"This is-- It's similar to the kinds of things you would see in materia use, but much stronger!"

The energy did not gain the momentum it needed. It dissipated within moments, and Cid sank to one knee. Vincent let out a slow, relieved breath, closing his eyes.

Reeve spoke into the microphone, "Cid, please remain where you are so that Agents can check your condition."

Tiredly, Cid threw a sloppy salute, not looking up. He stayed down until four WRO Agents came to collect him. They handcuffed him first, then one of them went through typical check up procedures-- they shone a penlight in his face, had him open his mouth, checked his heart rate, and patted him down.

A few minutes later, Cid entered the observation deck with his escort. They brought him over to the chair next to Vincent. His eyes blazed bright, leaving streaks of blue in their wake. His fingertips ended in delicate scales and wickedly curved claws, and his teeth were a little too long for him to close his mouth properly.

"Oh," Reeve said. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen."

Werner rose from his seat to gesture emphatically while looking to the judges. "The defense submits the following evidence: a failed transformation, and the readings to prove that Captain Highwind put his all into it."

"The court accepts," Judge Kelley answered.

"Fugck, 'm 'izzy ash shi'." Cid bent to put his forehead against the backs of his hands. "Coul' ushe shome shugar."

"Someone get the man a soda, please." Reeve waved his hand vaguely, between fidgeting with the computer console. "Bring extras, in case Vincent needs one after, too."

A moment later, the computer began to print out the readings. The long, perforated paper ran on and on, folding up into a neat little pile in a bin set just beneath the output. It finished just about the time an Agent came back with a trio of sodas. Cid took his with a mumble of gratitude. The other two were set at Lucrecia and Vincent's feet.

"Now, I would like to see Mr. Valentine's attempt, for comparison's sake," Judge Thorne said.

Judges Orban and Kelley nodded in agreement.

Vincent met Cid's gaze right before the Agents hauled him up from his seat. Cid lifted the can of soda, tilting it in a wry toast. With a snort and a roll of his eyes, Vincent let himself be escorted out and downstairs to the training room.

As they had done for Cid, the Agents left Vincent in the middle of the room with the handcuff keys. He listened closely for the door's last locks to click into place before freeing himself. Unlike Cid, he did not make an effort to put the handcuffs where the Agents could get them easily, instead stowing them and the key in one of his hidden pockets.

"I'm going to set the timer for three and a half minutes, Vincent.” Reeve’s voice had a faint echo and crackle through the speakers set in the corners of the room. “When you hear the bell, go ahead and change."

Vincent walked to the back of the room, where he leaned against the wall and folded his arms. He closed his eyes and settled in to wait.

When the bell went off, Vincent pushed away from the wall. He walked forward, and on his fourth step, dark purple energy spun around him. The wind made his cloak and hair flap wildly around him. He lifted his arms, palms downturned, and let the beast loose.

It tore through his body like always. His bones snapped and rearranged themselves, his muscles twisted and pulled taut, his flesh tore away to reveal the monster beneath. Galian Beast threw his head back, letting his agony be known in a burst of fire that arced up and scorched the ceiling.

Fury boiled over his senses, coating everything in a haze of red. He paced the room, tail lashing, but there were no targets. The prey he wanted sat smugly above, safely behind glass. They hurt what was his, and they thought themselves free of retribution.

With a growl, he dug his claws into the floor, leaving deep gouges behind. The teeth-rattling vibration that went up his arms helped calm him, as did the flicker of sparks. Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of-- _teagreasesmokesky_ \-- Cid.

Just like that, he regained full control of himself. He shook his body out, then gave a long, languid stretch, like a cat. Finally, he sat to wait, curling his tail around himself.

The Agents came, eventually, and hesitated near the door. None of them wanted to come near him. They all radiated fear. Vincent breathed the sickly, intoxicating scent in, but did not move because they weren't the ones he wanted to hurt.

"I think you can go ahead and change back now, Vincent," Reeve said.

Vincent lifted his head, cocking one ear. He peeled his lips back to show his many, many sharp teeth in an unfriendly grin. A shame, then, that the courtroom didn't want to see _his_ changes up close and personal.

Still, he needed to play nice for Cid and Lucrecia's sake. Vincent let the beast's form slough away beneath the haze of dark energy. All but one of the Agents fled the room, slamming the door shut. Vincent rose from his crouched position to meet the bescarfed woman’s gaze.

"I suppose congratulations are in order for discovering who not to take to a real fight," Vincent said.

With a humorless bark of laughter, she shook her head. "I guess so! Do you mind handcuffing yourself again?"

"I do." Vincent shrugged. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Got to do our bit, Mr. Valentine."

Sighing, Vincent pulled the handcuffs out to do as she asked. Then he walked over to her. She eyed him up and down, drumming her fingers against the grip of her rifle.

"What is it?"

"The key, Mr. Valentine?"

"Ah."

It took some doing to get it out without breaking the handcuff chain, but he managed. He spun it around his forefinger, then flung it off. It landed neatly into her waiting hand.

"Very showy, thank you, Mr. Valentine." She shot him a lopsided smile. "Let's not keep Dr. Crescent out of time any longer than we have to, huh?"

“What’s your name?”

“Agent Leyla, Mr. Valentine.”

“...Thank you, Agent Leyla.” Vincent glanced over his shoulder, towards the shatterproof glass above. “For her sake.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Agent Leyla opened the door and stood aside to let him pass. She followed him out into the hall and up the stairs. The rest of her companions waited nervously at the top, holding their guns too tightly. Vincent stared at them each in turn as he walked by them; they all shrank back.

In the makeshift courtroom, Vincent took his seat next to Cid. He felt trembly all over, with a grey fog creeping over the edges of his vision. The very real possibility that he might pass out as the court session dragged on loomed before him.

"Hey, starshine." Cid jostled their arms together, grinning. The after effects of Cid’s failed transformation had faded, all but the intense glow of blue eyes. "Ya had 'em goin' with that kleptomania shit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh."

Beside them, Leyla cast Dispel over Lucrecia. The flickers of magic swirled around her and faded away. Gradually, she came back to life, blinking as time caught up to her.

"Oh--? Is it over already?"

"Dr. Lucrecia," Judge Kelley called out. "Can you tell us how much time has passed?"

"Um... It seems like a minute, at most, Your Honor."

"Thank you. The other judges and I will need some time to hear from the jury and to make our deliberations. Please excuse us."

To the chime of the clock being stopped once more, the three judges got up from their seats and left the room. The prosecution soon followed, whispering harshly at one another. They looked equal parts furious and worried.

"Well." Reeve spun in his chair and planted his hands on his thighs, just above his knees. "I think it's fairly safe to say that's one conspiracy theory debunked."

"Thank fuck." Cid's handcuffs jingled as he lifted his hands to thumb his nose. "Stupid bastards."

Shera came around to kneel in front of Lucrecia. She laced their fingers together as best she could, given the restriction of handcuffs. "Honestly, I think we should sue for needless mental anguish."

"...There's no need for that, is there?" Lucrecia bent towards Shera, chewing at her lip. "I mean, it couldn't be worth it... More of this..."

"Should just wait'll we catch 'em alone later, kick their a--"

"Cid, you haven't been declared not guilty yet," Reeve said, sharp. "The cameras are off, but let's not be foolish."

"Yeah, whatever." Cid flopped back in his chair, tilting his head back. "Ain't gonna do shit anyhow. I wanna go the fuck home."

The judges took a little over an hour to make their deliberations.

During that time, Vincent did end up dozing, as did Cid. They listed towards one another until Cid ended up drooling on Vincent's shoulder, snoring. Now and then, Vincent stirred, disturbed by faint noises, like the rustle of cloth, the murmur of voices, or the impatient tap-tap of fingers against the barrel of a gun. He never quite managed full wakefulness.

The door slid open and shut, and then came the voice of Judge Thorne, loud and commanding. "Please take your seats so that we may deliver our verdict."

Cid jolted awake with a snort. "Hu-- wha."

Vincent opened his eyes reluctantly, then squinted them nearly closed again as the light burned. He blinked away the unwanted moisture as he tried to focus on the blurry shapes of the judges. Somewhere off to the side, he was vaguely aware of the prosecution taking their seats.

"Commissioner, are the jury able to see us?"

"One second--" A clatter of keys, and then Reeve said, "There we are."

"Very good." Judge Orban activated the timer, setting off the bell. "Court is now in session."

"I will now read the verdict," Judge Kelley said, standing. She held her notepad in one hand, looking down at it. "Dr. Lucrecia Crescent and Mr. Vincent Valentine are found to be not guilty of all accusations. Please remove their restraints."

Leyla and one other Agent moved to do just that. Lucrecia murmured soft thanks, rubbing at her wrists.

Once freed, Vincent flexed his hand and claw. He rotated his flesh wrist slowly, then went through careful stretches, for no other reason than to keep calm and still. The lack of inclusion for Cid in the not guilty verdict did not bode well.

"Captain Highwind, please come up to the bench."

"Fuck, here we go," Cid said, under his breath.

Watching Cid get up and cross the courtroom to stand in front of the judges and doing _nothing_ felt nearly as bad as having his skin peeled away inch by inch. Vincent folded his arms, tucking his hand and claw beneath to pin them against his sides. He grit his teeth, gaze fixed to those broad shoulders, which slumped a little under the weight of the judges' stares.

"Captain, it is the judges' unanimous belief that you are not guilty of _malicious_ intent." Judge Kelley set her notepad down on the desk before her. "However, you remain a danger to yourself and others, and we cannot in good conscience let you leave today without making reparations to those harmed in the attack."

"...Yeah, makes sense..."

"Therefore, the court is fining you. One year's pay per victim of the attack. The total will be discussed with the Commissioner of the WRO."

"Additionally," Judge Thorne said, because mere monetary gains could not possibly be the end of it. "We are assigning you one year probationary period. During that time, you are not to come within ten miles of any settlement, town, city, etcetera."

Cid spluttered. "What--?!"

Vincent sat ramrod straight, static filling his head as the world before him seemed to separate into two and slide apart. He was only distantly aware of Lucrecia's gasp and Shera's hissed conversation with her lawyers. His fingers twitched against his side. The sensation of holding his gun felt so real that for a moment, he thought he'd somehow summoned it. But no, he was empty handed.

"A whole damn year, Your Honors?"

"That is correct. At the end of one year, if you have not made any strides to gain control of or otherwise neutralize your new form, then you will be imprisoned. The duration of such remains to be discussed at that point and time."

“If you have improved by then, you will be assigned mandatory hours of anger management and therapy as you reintegrate into society,” Judge Kelley added.

Judge Orban folded his hands on the desk before him, staring very seriously down at Cid. "Do you understand the terms, Captain Highwind?"

"Got a question, matter of fact."

"Yes?"

"So I ain't fuh-- allowed anywhere near towns, right. What'm I s'posed to do, go off and live in a cabin in the woods for a year?" Cid threw his hands up, the handcuffs clattering. "There some kinda stipulation in this sh-- thing that says I can't have visitors, or what? I got work I can't leave for a whole damn year, yanno."

"The idea, Captain Highwind, is to remove you from the presence of those who do not consent to the risks of being caught in an uncontrolled rampage. That is all."

Judge Kelley nodded. "If anyone would like to visit, or continue living with you, or otherwise work with you during this time, that will be up to their discretion. Additionally, we have no qualms with you maintaining long-distance communications. We are not intending to banish you from society in its entirety."

"F... Okay."

"Do you agree to our terms, Captain Highwind?" Judge Orban asked.

"Yea, ain't got any other choice 'cept rottin' in jail." Cid shrugged, his left shoulder rising higher than the right. "Am I gettin' time to get my shit together?"

"We thought one week, under close guard." Judge Kelley flipped a page on her notebook, studied it, then nodded. "Yes. Will that be sufficient time?"

"Oughta be, thanks."

"Very well." Judge Thorne raised her voice, looking out over the courtroom. "Then let the record state that the court finds Captain Cid Highwind not guilty of malicious intent, but he will make reparations to the victims and enter into one year's probationary period, with further action taken as needed. Court is adjourned." To the chiming of the clock being turned off one final time, she thumped her gavel against the soundblock.

The judges rose from their seats and filed out of the room. Orban paused near Reeve to offer him a business card. “Commissioner, please deliver the records of wages for the victims to the courthouse…”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.”

Then the judges were gone, and the prosecution vacated the room next. Shera exchanged a few more words with her lawyers, and then they left as well.

“Agents, thank you for your service today.” Reeve offered his employees his polite politician’s smile. “I’ll need two volunteers to continue to guard Cid until shift change, and the rest of you may return to your usual posts....”

“Sir,” Leyla said, stepping forward with a salute. Another woman stepped up beside her, mirroring the salute.

“Thank you, ladies. The rest of you are dismissed.”

While the rest of the Agents left the room, Cid came to flop in the chair next to Vincent again. Lucrecia patted Cid's knee, then got up to join Shera, who still sat at the defendant's desk, going over paperwork.

"May I remove his shackles, sir?" Leyla asked.

"Yes, I think so."

"Fuckin' finally." Cid offered his wrists up, and the minute he was freed, he threw an arm around Vincent's shoulders. "Ya in there, starshine?"

"...Yes."

"Lookin' 'bout as spaced out as I feel."

"Hm."

Reeve fidgeted with the cuff of one sleeve, frowning down at his shoes. "I'm sorry it came to this, Cid. If there's any assistance I can offer to make this easier--"

"I'll letcha know."

"Alright."

"Might be nice to have a goddamn sleep, though, whatcha think, Vince?"

Wearily, Vincent nodded. All the twists and turns of the day had really taken it out of him. He shifted and bent to pillow his cheek against Cid’s shoulder, setting his brassy claws carefully against one muscled thigh.

A whole year of being outcast…

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, shut up, starshine.” Cid pushed his hand up the back of Vincent’s neck, fingers splayed against the base of his skull. “Can I count on ya to teach me how to rock the hermit life?”

“Yes.”

“Good, might go out my fuckin’ gourd without ya.”


	22. til the whole world

Because none of them felt up to travel and it would be easier to conclude the messy business of finances and paperwork if they remained in Junon, Reeve assigned rooms to the group. Cid and Vincent retreated into one at the first opportunity. His armed guards took up positions in the hall at either side of the door.

"What a fuckin' shitty ass fuckarow, goddamn shittin' fucks--" Cid complained, while unbuttoning his vest and kicking his shoes off. "What the hell did they fuckin' mean, neutralize it!?"

"A problem for the future." Vincent caught Cid by the tie and tugged him towards the bed. "Sleep now."

"Fuck, okay, gimme a damn sec--"

Impatiently, Vincent pushed the vest off of Cid's shoulders, then undid the tie to fling it somewhere. Shirt came next, though how he managed to undo all the fiddly buttons without popping any was beyond him. Last was the belt and pants, which he loosened and let drop unceremoniously around Cid's ankles. Cid snorted with laughter through it, letting Vincent undress him.

"Impatient fuck."

"No, no fucking. _Sleep_."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, c'mon, get your ass outta that cape." Cid pulled at one tattered edge of red cloth, grinning. "I ain't riskin' strangulation, bad 'nuff I sometimes wake with your hair in my mouth."

Though normally he would take the time to neatly set everything aside after shedding it, Vincent could feel the world slowly tilting a few degrees at a time. Soon, he would be horizontal, whether he was in bed or not. Vincent dropped his belts one at a time, letting them fall wherever. He shoved his boots haphazardly under the little desk in one corner. Cape and bandana got flung over the desk and very nearly slithered off onto the floor.

"...My gun," Vincent muttered, then shook his head.

He'd forgotten to find Yuffie to get it back. He'd also, he realized, left his silly plastic bucket somewhere. Possibly under the chair in the original courtroom.

"Gonna be okay for waitin'?"

"Doesn't matter."

Vincent sank into the narrow bed face first, unable to keep his eyes open much longer. Cid soon joined him, tugging at the blanket to get it out from under them. Then sleep, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth and the scent of Cid, the only sounds following him down into the dark Cid's heartbeat and snores.

After a confusing night of starlit dreams chasing and being chased by Cid, Vincent woke to pounding on the door. It echoed through his head, reverberating back through time, to being trapped in the coffin, to darkness and claustrophobia, to fevered dreams of Lucrecia's corpse wrapped around him, whispering sweet nothings as she stared through him with cat green eyes.

Vincent blinked the delusions away.

The too hot weight pinning him down was only Cid, head propped on his chest, drool soaking through his shirt. The blanket hung half off the bed, kicked down to the end. Their legs were tangled together, and too much weight was on Vincent's full bladder. Somehow, Cid managed to shove his entire arm inside Vincent's shirt, fingers curled against the side of his ribs. They were as close as they could possibly be in sleep, as though making up for lost time.

"Cid."

A wet snort and sleepy grunt answered him. Otherwise, Cid continued to sleep, apparently too exhausted to be bothered by the knocking.

Sighing, Vincent ran his hand through Cid's messy hair, overwhelmed with fond exasperation. He waited through one more round of viciously loud knocks, then inhaled. On the exhale, he flung Cid off, maybe with a little too much force.

Cid yelped and rolled right off the bed, hitting the floor with a muffled, "Shit!"

Vincent stepped over him, going right for the door. He didn't want to lose his momentum and default to making Cid answer the door. Guilt and an aggrieved, "What the hell, starshine?" followed him.

He cracked the door open, squinting against the fluorescent light that spilled in from the hallway. With her fist upraised, there stood Yuffie. Her other fist propped against her hip, gripping the handle of the plastic bucket. Cerberus was slung over her shoulder, the gun resting against her front.

"...Yuffie."

"Finally, geez, you guys sleep like the dead."

"We _have_ died, but Gaia denies us peaceful rest with your assistance."

"Rude!!"

The Agents at either side of the door were not familiar faces, but they stared politely ahead. One of them couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

"Are you going to invite me in, Vinny?"

Vincent looked over his shoulder. Cid lay on the bed again, flat on his back, with his hand down the front of his boxers for what appeared to be a very satisfying scratch. 

On noticing that he was being stared at, Cid paused, blinking. "What?" He still didn't remove his hand from his groin.

Rolling his eyes, Vincent braced himself against the door, preventing Yuffie's predictable push against it. "Cid is not fit for polite company yet."

Yuffie rocked up onto her tiptoes and leaned to the side, as if she could possibly see over Vincent's shoulder. She was only a little taller and more muscled than when Vincent first met her, all those years ago, when she was still sixteen and in possession of a black hole for a stomach.

"Tell him to get up!" Yuffie insisted. "I'll buy breakfast!"

Vincent barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes upon hearing the rustle of Cid bouncing off the bed behind him.

"Why didn't ya fuckin' say so in the first place?"

"Give us a minute." Vincent held his hand out, palm up.

Tilting her head, Yuffie looked at his hand as though it were a foreign object. She only blinked when he gestured impatiently. Then she grinned widely, shaking her head, and _finally_ returned the gun.

"You're so weird, Vinny."

He had no answer for that, so he shut the door in her face. She clattered the plastic bucket against the door, her outraged shout muffled. As Vincent turned around, he strapped the gun in its customary place on his thigh. Across the room, Cid, in only his slacks, hopped on one foot, yanking socks and shoes on in a hurry.

"Hungry, Chief?"

"Fuckin' famished, ain't eaten shit since that dumbass dog show."

Vincent drew the gun, cracking it open to check the ammo. Yuffie hadn't stolen that or the materia; in fact, it looked like she'd taken the gun apart and serviced it. In the process, she put the materia in a different order, and didn't quite manage to wipe off all of the excess lubricant.

"Everything okay?" Cid asked, while buttoning up his shirt.

"Mhm." Vincent pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and used it to wipe the gun down. "Yuffie trying to be helpful..."

"Hah. Nothin' missin', is there?"

"No."

"Goddamn miracle. Ya reckon Reeve's replaced her with a robot?"

Thoughtfully, Vincent considered the possibility as he stowed his gun in its holster. He went to put his boots on first, then bent to begin collecting his belts from the floor. He would sense the difference between robot and living entity, of course, but he honestly wondered if Reeve _could_ pull off a convincing body double. Yuffie had a very lively personality that few could match.

"...No, fortunately, I think we'll only have to deal with the one."

"Oh, thank fuck." Cid grinned. "I like that kid, but I think I'd be ready to blast my ass off to the goddamn moon if I had to deal with more'n one."

"Whatever will you do if she has children..."

"Ugh. Don't fuckin'-- ugh!"

Vincent looped his belts into their customary places, pulling them taut to buckle them. Since Cid still had one, he only had the one belt around his waist, then the multitudes of smaller ones that went around his arm for no other reason than because it vexed Cid, as he wasn't currently wearing a glove in need of securing. Very rarely did he allow the removal of his shirt, but when he did, watching Cid struggle with it when he was worked up always amused.

As if sensing the turn Vincent's thoughts took, Cid eyed the neat row of belts on Vincent's forearm with something akin to disgust. Vincent turned away to snag his cloak, sweeping it onto his shoulders with a flourish. He secured the top three buckles and let the last ones dangle. Once the lower half of his face was hidden, he allowed himself the briefest of smiles.

"Ya in a good mood, huh?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Vincent plucked the bandana from where it pooled on the floor beside the desk. He gave it a perfunctory shake to ensure no dust or stray friends crawled on it. While he wrapped it around his head, he watched Cid move towards the door, sans vest and tie.

"Don't forget the rest of your monkey suit, Highwind."

"Yeah, yeah."

Grumbling curses under his breath, Cid turned back to grab the rest of his clothes. He draped the tie loosely over his shoulders, then shrugged into the vest, clearly not intending to wear either of them properly.

Vincent stepped into his space, cutting him off from the door.

"What?"

Wordless, Vincent caught either end of the tie and tugged gently. He went through the familiar motions of tying it, mindful not to ruin the cloth with his claws. Cid's lips parted, breathing going soft and shallow, but he did not protest.

Rather than pull the tie as tight as needed, Vincent left it fairly loose. He smoothed the backs of his hands against the vest, brushing away a few wrinkles, but it too could stay unbuttoned. Cid looked better with his shirt untucked and his hair in disarray.

"Uh, thanks, starshine."

Vincent brushed the backs of his foreclaw along Cid's jaw. The scruff formed a very thin beard. Some of the hairs looked to be curling in on themselves. Cid shivered under the scrutiny. Vincent met Cid's gaze, tilting his head slightly.

Weighted silence settled between them.

Impatient knocking interrupted it several moments later.

Cid coughed into his fist, grinning sheepishly, then rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, got mornin' breath anyhow, so, let's fuckin' get a move on...?"

"A distinct lack of toiletries included in our amenities," Vincent finally said, with one more glance around the room to confirm that they hadn't left anything.

"Fuckin' shitter's prolly down six blocks of hallways-- this damn base is the shittiest goddamn design."

"Were you ever stationed here?"

" _Yeah._ It fuckin' sucked then, and it ain't got any goddamn better with ShinRa and the WRO makin' it bigger and twistier with every fuckin' iteration."

As he spoke, Cid stomped over to the door to yank it open. Yuffie bounced the plastic bucket off his head, having been using it to knock.

"What the fuck, girl!"

"Oops, sorry!" Yuffie singsonged, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "You guys are soooo slow, c'mooooooon already!"

"Hold ya damn horses, shit." Cid shouldered past her to stand in the middle of the hall with his fists against his hips. "Where's the fuckin' bathroom?"

"It's down the hall." Yuffie threw her arm out, pointing with far more fanfare than strictly necessary. "There's a _sign_ , even, but I guess you're getting blind in your old age..."

"Ah, fuck off." Cid lifted his middle finger up at her, already walking at a brisk pace towards the bathroom. His guards followed him, staying ten or so paces behind.

Vincent stepped out of the room and right into Yuffie shoving the plastic bucket against his chest. He blinked down at it, bemused to notice that she'd found a lid for it somewhere. An obnoxiously fluorescent orange lid that only sort of matched the aesthetic.

As he took it, he felt the shift and slide of several somethings inside. He pushed the corner of the lid up and found not one, but two transparent travel kits containing small offerings of soap, shampoo, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, as well as toothbrushes and combs. There was also a new brush, a can of shaving cream, an unopened razor, and a scrunchie comprised almost entirely of black and red sequins.

"You probably didn't pack well, again, and Reeve probably forgot to give you anything." Yuffie rocked forward on her toes, leaning to peer into the bucket. "So I got you something. Go fix that rat's nest you call hair."

"...You're so kind." He said it flatly enough to cause offense, though he meant it sincerely.

Grinning, Yuffie thumped her palm against her chest. "Of course I am!"

From down the hall, Vincent heard Cid shout, "Oi, let a man fuckin' piss in peace, why don'tcha?!"

Yuffie and Vincent looked at each other for a second. Then she rolled her eyes, smiling ruefully, and took off down the hall at a sprint. He followed, his longer strides making it appear as though he moved much more leisurely even as he managed to keep pace with her.

Cid stood in the doorway of the bathroom, feet and arms braced against the doorframe to block the Agents from following him in. The downturn of his mouth suggested more than mere irritation.

"Hey, what's going on?" Yuffie skidded to a stop between the two nonplussed Agents. She looked from each Agent to Cid and back again, and then over to Vincent, when he came to a stop behind them.

"Since Captain Highwind has been found to be a danger to himself and others, we're not supposed to let him out of our sight unattended," one of the Agents explained. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, as if he felt it were too short. "Sorry."

Yuffie let out a startled wheeze of laughter, clapping her hands over her mouth. Then she jerked her thumb towards Cid. "Him!?"

"Yes, ma'am...?"

"Hahaha! Oh, man. Are you kidding?" She bent at the middle and leaned forward, peering up into the Agent's face. "Cid's _way_ too full of himself to think of hurting himself!"

"If you say so, ma'am," the Agent said, beneath Cid's noisier, "I am fuckin' _not_!"

“So you would hurt yourself!? Geez, Cid!”

"It should not be a problem if I am present, correct?" Vincent slid around the Agents, putting himself between them and Cid. "We have better things to do than indulge your voyeurism, at any rate."

"I'm not-- it's _orders_ , that's all!"

Yuffie laughed louder, elbowing both of the Agents until they relented and took up posts at either side of the door. Then she mockingly saluted Vincent and Cid.

"Okay, go get pretty!"

"What's she talking about?" Cid grumbled, backing into the bathroom.

Gently, Vincent rattled the bucket at him, but did not explain. He entered the room and shut the door behind him, turning the lock with a click that echoed.

The bathroom, like the one found in the prison block, consisted of a singular sink, a shower lacking much in the way of privacy, and a bench near the door. It also had a toilet behind a divider in one corner, which Cid went straight for. Vincent set his bucket on the bench and went to turn the sink on full blast to drown out Cid's noisy relief. The steam soon fogged the mirror.

After Cid finished, he came over to wash his hands. "What's up with the bucket, get some new trash innit?"

"Amenities, courtesy of Wutai," Vincent said, on the way to use the toilet.

"Fuckin' alright!"

By the time Vincent returned to the sink, Cid had the bucket open at his feet and the contents of one travel kit lined up along the edge of the sink. He lathered his cheeks up, bent forward to swipe the steam off the mirror with his forearm, and then started shaving, humming some catchy tune or another. Vincent leaned against the wall nearby, watching the transformation from overly scruffy to too barefaced. Cid never quite managed smooth and baby-faced, but he always looked so... strange and _lacking_ without any scruff at all.

One particularly unpleasant nightmare involved Cid shaving not just hair but skin off, until nothing remained but blood and bone. He'd woken from that one and scared the both of them when Cid tried to shave later that morning.

"What's up, Vince?" Cid asked, rinsing the razor. "Lookin' like someone kicked ya in the dick."

Vincent reached out to drag his fingertip down Cid's cheek. It mollified him somewhat to find the skin still rough, weathered from years of hard work under the sun. He lingered over the faint scratch of hair not shaved down perfectly.

"Hn. It's nothing."

"Sure it ain't."

All the same, Cid did not press. He caught Vincent's hand, planted a kiss against the palm, then let go so he could brush his teeth. After shoving a toothbrush loaded with toothpaste in his mouth, Cid stepped aside to let Vincent make use of the sink, as if they were home, taking turns through the daily ritual of hygiene with minimal jostling.

Vincent washed his hands and his face, then brushed his own teeth. He forewent the deodorant, finding the smell headache-inducing. Then he made a vague pass at taming his so-called rat's nest. Cid took pity on him, herding him over to sit on the bench to make brushing easier.

"Man, starshine, issit me, or is your hair gettin' longer and more unruly?"

"Perhaps it's gaining sentience."

"Ha, that'd be fuckin' weird." Cid waved the brush towards the bucket. "Like that thing in there. Yuffie expectin' ya to actually use that fuckin' sparkly thing?"

"No. She likely thinks she's clever, predicting that I will snub it."

"...Ya wanna, throw her off her game?"

"I don't care."

"Sounds like a hell yes to me, Vince."

Vincent tilted his head back to squint at Cid through the fall of his bangs. Cid grinned back and went to retrieve the offending scrunchie.

Under Marlene and Tifa's careful tutelage, Cid picked up the trick to not just braiding hair, but braiding it in a surprising number of complex ways. He'd also finally mastered tails. His skills saved Vincent the hassle of trying to tie his hair back one-handed, or else risk tangling or cutting it with his claws.

Cid gathered Vincent's hair up into a high tail, leaving the shorter bangs framing his face. The scrunchie proved to be annoying to deal with. Stray strands of hair kept getting caught in the sequins.

"Fuck, this is impractical as shit." Cid snorted. "Sorry 'bout yankin'."

Vincent flicked his claws dismissively. He waited without complaint until Cid finished, then stood to inspect the effect in the mirror. It wasn't really his style, but neither did it offend. At least the colors were appropriate.

Cid came over to flick the end of the tail with his fingers. When Vincent turned, Cid kissed his cheek, grinning after.

"Looks cute."

Rolling his eyes, Vincent said, "If you say so."

"Sure as fuck do. I'm the expert 'round these parts, don't yanno?"

"On what, exactly?"

"On your cuteness level, 'course."

Vincent looked at Cid, who had his chest puffed out and his fists against his hips. The very picture of cheeky confidence, with his blue eyes glittering with barely restrained mirth. He couldn't quite repress a smile, and Cid's grin only grew on spotting it.

In an attempt to stave off any further commentary, Vincent fished the cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. He tossed them at Cid, then turned to gather up their things, piling them into the bucket.

"Hey, fuck yeah!" Cid hooted, and immediately set to making the bathroom smell like juvenile delinquents frequented it. "If I'd known I'd get smokes outta sayin' ya look nice, I'd've done it sooner."

"Do you only say nice things to get what you want?"

"Sure." Cid blew a ring of smoke out and winked at Vincent through it. "Just so happens, makin' ya happy's one of the things I want, so... fuckin' works out, right?"

"Ridiculous."

In a dramatic swirl of his cape, Vincent left the bathroom, escaping one cheeky, noisy fool for another. Yuffie let out a delighted squeal on seeing him, her gaze on his hair.

"Oh, man, I didn't think you'd actually-- You look _pretty_!" She lunged at him, grabbing him by the upper arm. She whipped out her phone, tapped through to the camera, and held it up high to snap a picture, all before Vincent could so much as blink. "That's going straight onto Tifa's wall, Vinny. I bet she’ll frame it front and center."

Vincent sighed, resigned to his fate.


	23. knows my name

Yuffie took them out to the visitor's parking lot, on the east side of the base, opposite from the airstrip and about as far as they could get from the prison block without leaving. Four large food trucks sat in a circle on one side of the parking lot, near a cluster of benches under carefully tended trees designed to put out the maximum amount of shade.

"Tada!"

"Food trucks again, girlie?" Cid elbowed Yuffie in the side.

She shoved at his elbow, puffing her cheeks up. "It's not like I can take you out on the town, with your grumpy gus guards in tow!"

Cid looked back at the two Agents tailing them at a respectful distance. "Don't look pissed off to me." He raised his voice. "Y'all mad back there?"

"Is there a reason we should be, sir?" one Agent asked.

"Nah-uh. Just doin' your fuckin' jobs, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"See, there ya have it." Cid shrugged. "Ain't their goddamn fault they stuck lookin' at my ass."

"Sucks to be them," Yuffie said, as she flounced towards one of the trucks. "Looking at a gross old man butt like yours."

"Hey!" With a huff, Cid threw both his middle fingers up. "My ass ain't-- ugh, fuck, why'm I even havin' this goddamn conversation with _you_!" He turned on Vincent, sizing him up with a frown. "...You're gonna say somethin' that ain't that nice 'bout it if I ask, ain't ya."

"If you're about to ask me to check your rear end in public, you are setting yourself up for disappointment." Vincent swept past Cid, following Yuffie.

"Thought so..."

The truck Yuffie chose was red with a giant waffle painted on the side. A myriad of colorful geometric shapes behind and around it suggested comic book aesthetics. The truck's name curved below, in big, bold lettering: _The Iron Waffle_.

Vincent stepped up to Yuffie's left, averting his gaze from the colorful eyesore in favor of studying the menu above the service window. Cid came to stand on her other side with his hands in his pockets. After a minute or two of taking in the whole picture, he leaned towards Yuffie.

"Are ya obsessin’ over food trucks _and_ waffles, kiddo?"

"No! Gosh, gimme a break." Yuffie stuck her tongue out at him, then gestured towards the other trucks. "This is just the best truck here. The others are okay, but only if you order like, one specific thing. Anything else is guh-ross."

"Uh-huh, sure.”

Yuffie made a sour face at Cid with her brows down and her tongue stuck out, then immediately brightened up as a woman appeared behind the service counter.

"What can I get you?" the woman asked.

"Grilled cheese, with chips and a soda!" Yuffie rocked back on her heels, tilting her face up towards Vincent. "Do you want one? It's _really_ good."

As he had no particular interest in food one way or the other, Vincent shrugged a shoulder. "...That's fine."

"Okay." Nodding, Yuffie leaned back towards the counter, pulling a credit card from Gaia knows where. "Two of those, aaand..." She looked over her shoulder at Cid. "What horrible mess are you gonna get, old man?"

"Like grilled cheese ain't damn greasy." Cid scoffed. "Gimme a BLT."

"Uh-huh, sure." Yuffie tapped her credit card against the counter once before giving it to the woman. "Chips and soda with that, too, please."

"Alright, your total comes to..."

Vincent stepped away from the truck, meandering towards one of the empty tables. Instead of sitting on the carvings and weeks old gum marring the bench, he perched on the corner of the table, putting his boots up on the bench. He set the plastic bucket just behind him, out of the way. His cloak pooled around him, dripping over the edges of the table like blood.

A moment later, Cid joined him, hopping up to crouch on the bench, facing Vincent to pen him in. He folded his arms across Vincent's legs and rested his chin on top, eyes drooping half-mast. His guards stood about ten feet away; one circled around behind them and the other stayed near the pavement between them and the food trucks.

"Still tired, Chief?" Vincent brushed a curling lock of hair away from Cid's brow. He was loath to do more in front of an audience.

"Yeah. Food'll prolly help."

Before Cid could start to doze, Yuffie came bounding over, juggling a cup holder and three paper food cartons. She hopped up onto the table to sit next to Vincent. With a flourish, she set the food and drinks between them.

"I didn't know what you wanted to drink, so, uhhh cola it is!"

"S'fine with me," Cid said, sitting up. He snagged the carton marked with big, sloppy black lettering that read _BLT_ across the side.

Out of morbid curiosity, Vincent leaned forward to peer into the carton when Cid popped it open. Inside, sitting on a bed of freshly fried potato chips, sat a BLT with a heaping mess of greasy bacon, cut in halves. It looked like standard fare for Cid, except instead of bread, it used waffles.

Cid picked a piece of bacon out and offered it. It hung limp from his fingers. "Ya want some?"

Vincent wrinkled his nose, just slightly. "...No."

Cid shrugged and popped it into his mouth. Muffled between chewing, he said, "Your fuckin' loss."

"Here, Vin," Yuffie said. She held a drink and one of the other food cartons out to him.

If only because she wouldn't let him be until he took it, Vincent accepted the offerings. He set the drink down on the other side of himself and the food in his lap. While Yuffie was distracted with her own food, and Cid scarfed his noisily, Vincent flicked the top of his carton open. The grilled cheese inside looked alright, if a little bizarre because it comprised of waffles and some sort of pale, oozy cheese. A glance over at Yuffie confirmed that the cheese held together well, in big, gooey strings usually seen only in glamorous food commercials.

Cid nudged his elbow against Vincent's leg, brows up. He shot pointed glances between the food and Vincent's face. Sighing, Vincent picked up a single chip and crunched it. It wasn't bad. A little lacking in salt, but it didn't turn his stomach. He picked through the rest of the chips, leaving those gone soggy from sitting under the sandwich alone.

"You gonna eat that?" Yuffie asked, when she'd finished her own.

Wordless, Vincent offered the carton over. She filched half the sandwich, then pushed it back towards him with a narrow-eyed look. Between that and the judging stares from Cid, Vincent had little choice but to finally take a nibble of the sandwich. His too concerned friends looked extremely satisfied with themselves and left him alone after that.

"Yanno anything 'bout the plan from here, Yuffie?"

"Uhh, nope. Sorry."

"Seen Shera 'round? Or Lucy?"

"Think they were put in rooms near yours, but uuhh they were gone when I came to get you guys. Missed out on some bitchin' sandwiches, right?"

"Hah, sure." Cid slurped his cola, planting his elbows on the table at either side of Vincent's legs. "Ya don't got your phone, d'ya, Valentine?"

Vincent plucked at the edge of his cape, lifting it to reveal his lack of a phone. Cid, knowing him well enough by now, poked a finger along the usual spots for his hidden pockets. Vincent's breath hitched when Cid jabbed something with a sharp edge between his ribs.

"...Sorry, starshine, but what the hell's that?"

Under the curious stares of his friends, Vincent reached into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of gil; an extra pink ribbon, which Cid immediately laid claim to and tied to his arm; a moist towelette packet; and a rough-edged coil spring.

"That's weird," Yuffie said. "You're weird. Do you still have the marble I gave you?"

"Probably."

"What the shit, Vince." Cid took the coil spring, rolling it across his palm. "Why in the hell-- When'd ya even get this thing? Did ya take all this shit with ya when ya..." He cleared his throat, glancing away. "...visited sweet pea?"

"I assume so."

"The hell, that's fuckin' favoritism. I come out the other side buck ass naked and ya get to keep everything, includin' the goddamn trash heap ya keep in your pockets?" As he spoke, Cid gestured wildly with the coil spring.

And then Yuffie snatched it from his hand. She bounced up to her feet atop the table, grinning triumphantly with the coil spring held up high. "Are you _jealous_ of Vinny's junk?"

"Oi-- watch your damn mouth."

"Ew, that's _not_ what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah, gimme that damn thing." Cid held his hand up, flopping it a little in a _come on_ gesture.

"Nope!"

"Why the fuck not!?"

"It's just trash, right?"

"How the fuck should _I_ know? Ain't had a chance to figure out where the hell Vince got it."

"Your workshop," Vincent said.

"From _what,_ Valentine."

Lifting his soda up to catch the straw between his teeth, Vincent gave an indifferent shrug. He could not honestly remember when he'd picked the spring up, and Cid's organization methods made sense only to Cid.

"Alright, cool, good talk, guys, I'm gonna go toss this--" Yuffie hopped off the table and made a beeline for the nearest trash bin.

"Hey, no, what the fuck!" Cid launched himself off the bench and gave chase, swinging one fist comically above his head.

Laughing, Yuffie darted away. The pair of them raced round and round on the grass between the trees, ducking and weaving between the picnic benches. Vincent watched them, and then he watched Cid's two guards because they stood tense with their guns in their hands, unaware that Cid would sooner kill himself than hurt Yuffie. With narrowed eyes, Vincent set his drink down, then laid the heel of his hand against the butt of his gun.

Yuffie shrieked with mock outrage when Cid caught her.

The moment stretched taut between one breath and the next. Vincent calculated the shots, felt his fingers twitch against the grip.

Then Cid tossed her up. Her skinny arms flailed at her sides, the coil spring glinting as she lost her grip on it. It sailed off to the side, landing in the grass somewhere at the base of one of the trees. Cid caught Yuffie in both arms, laughing when she smacked the flat of her hand against his chest.

"You jerk!!" she wailed, flopping dramatically. "What if you _dropped_ me!"

"Not gonna if ya don't fuckin’ flail around.” Cid scoffed and set her down on her feet. “Where the hell’d ya put that damn spring?”

“Uhh…”

“Fuck.”

The guards relaxed, dropping their hands away from their guns to stand at rest once more. It took Vincent a little longer to come back down from being keyed up. He brushed his hand against the side of his pants, then snapped his knuckles against the edges of his cloak to make it ripple. The effect pleased him enough to do it again on the other side, and his cloak ended up flared out artfully around him.

Vincent drew his leg up towards himself, resting the heel of his boot against the edge of the table. He rested his forearm against his knee, then propped his chin.

Before him, the whole of reality seemed to slip a few inches away. As he breathed, the muscles in his diaphragm trembled, hard enough to shake him to his core. The vibrating intensified until he wondered if he were dreaming while on one of Cid's planes, if the whole garish courtroom drama had been imagined.

"Hey, starshine."

A blink, and suddenly Cid stood in front of him. Blue eyes caught him in their depths. Vincent blinked slowly, and could not make himself speak. He shook from the effort of trying and thought his teeth must be chattering so hard as to be audible.

"...That sounds like a phone!" Yuffie's voice, somewhere off to the side.

Rough fingers brushed against Vincent's jawline, then down his neck, pushing the mantle of his cloak down to get at the pulse. "Ya gonna answer it, Vince?"

"Oh."

Another blink, and the realization that the vibration came from outside of his body clicked into place. Vincent sucked in a breath. He unfolded himself, touching his fingertips against the outside of Cid's forearm to reassure himself that the other man was solid and real and very much there. That melted some of Cid's worry, revealing a small smile.

The buzzing stopped for a moment, then started up again in short intervals. Vincent reached into his pockets, searching but not finding the correct one. Sighing, he began to excavate, spilling miscellaneous items out onto the table around him. Hard candies in shiny foil wrappers, a battered horror novel, a hair tie, empty bullet casings, his keys, and more.

Yuffie and Cid crowded closer as the pile grew.

"Jeez, Vince, when's the last time ya did some spring cleanin'?"

"Huh, these coupons are _expired_." Yuffie flicked a suspicious wad of faded newspaper clippings. "I don't wanna know what's stuck to 'em."

Vincent's fingers closed around a small piece of plastic and lingered. He rubbed his thumb against the tiny shape of wings on the back. The left wing had a chip on the bottom. He glanced between Cid and Yuffie as they poked through his sometimes useful treasures and thought better of showing them the little figurine right then.

"A while," Vincent admitted.

The phone buzzed against his rib. He let go of the figurine and checked one of the higher pockets. Finally, he drew the phone out, freeing it from a tangle of thread. The screen lit up with notifications informing him of numerous missed calls and text messages, the most recent ones from Shera.

"Hey, fuckin' alright!" Cid dropped an ancient skeleton key on the table in favor of leaning towards Vincent and his phone. "Can we get the girls on the horn?"

"Could've just asked, old man," Yuffie said. She wiped a plastic kazoo off against her sleeve, then gave it a test. It tooted sadly. “ _I’ve_ got a phone that doesn’t need excavating.”

“Yeah, but were ya plannin’ on lettin’ us old fucks touch it?”

“Nah.”

Vincent unlocked the phone and passed it to Cid. Before Yuffie could start stealing everything not nailed down, he gathered his things back up, returning them to his pockets exactly as he'd found them.

"You know half that stuff's junk, right?"

"Now's not the time for cleaning." Vincent held his hand out towards her, expectant.

Yuffie shrugged. She dropped the kazoo into his palm. "What're you worried about, super spies rifling through your trash?"

Vincent said nothing as he used a corner of his cape to wipe her spit off the kazoo. It was a party favor from one of Marlene's birthdays. The first one he'd attended, in fact. He put it in the pocket with the little figurine.

Meanwhile, Cid wandered a few steps away with the phone to his ear. "Heya, Sher, where y'all at?" The conversation comprised mostly of, "Uh-huh," "yeah," and "okay," after that.

Yuffie propped her hip against the edge of the table, folding her arms behind her head. She tilted her head along with Cid's pacing, back and forth. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"He said as much."

The look Yuffie shot Vincent suggested that he'd answered wrong. He couldn't think of what he should have said instead, and so he turned his face away to watch Cid.

The other man came to a stop under one of the trees. The conversation seemed to be done, as he stowed Vincent's phone in his pocket and bent to collect the discarded coil spring. Cid wandered back over to the table, tossing the spring up and down.

"I gotta go meet with Shera to sign my shit away. Ya wanna come with, Vince?"

"Do you need me?"

"Always." Cid flashed a brief grin, then shook his head. "But this is just borin' bullshit, so I ain't gonna make ya hang 'round for it."

"Could hang out with me, Vinny!"

"And do what?" Vincent asked.

"Umm, we could--"

Cid jumped when the phone buzzed. He fumbled for his back pocket, checked the screen, and held it out towards Vincent. The screen showed Cloud's number and a partially blurred picture of him running away from the She Devil, courtesy of Tifa.

Vincent accepted the phone and the excuse to escape, rising from the table and hopping down to the grass. He walked away, rounding a tree for the facsimile of privacy. Neither Yuffie nor Cid followed him, apparently busying themselves with cleaning up their trash.

Thumbing the accept button, Vincent lifted the phone to his ear. "Cloud."

"Oh." Cloud seemed surprised. He coughed, the sound muffled and distant. Then he said, "Hey, Vincent. Uh... I guess you're okay, then?"

"Fine."

"Where are you?"

"Junon."

"The thing with Cid go alright?"

Vincent tucked his metal claw against his belly, using the back of the gauntlet to hold his flesh elbow up. He peered around the tree to see Yuffie perched atop the table, fidgeting with her phone, and Cid sitting nearby, smoking and tapping his feet restlessly.

"Define alright."

"Do we need to bust him out of jail, Vincent."

"Ha. No."

Cloud exhaled with noisy relief. "Okay, good. Reeve said we should probably hang back, let the suits deal with it, but..."

Despite the miles between them, Vincent could easily imagine Cloud doing his one-shouldered shrug, mako-infused gaze drifting to the side. He waited without comment for the other man to get to the point of the conversation.

"Oh, so, uh. What's the verdict, everything normal? You guys coming to Edge soon?"

"One year of exile."

"...What?"

"We have one week to conclude our affairs." Vincent found himself looking up, watching the clouds drift through the tree branches. One of them looked like a cat with its back arched. "...You asked me about a piano."

"Uh. Yeah?"

"Hm. Two jobs for you, if you'll accept a trade."

"...Do you have a _piano_ hidden somewhere, Vincent?"

"I might." Vincent tapped his fingers against the back of the phone. "Can't guarantee it won't need work."

Cloud was silent for several moments, except for his breathing. Eventually, he said, "You gonna help me with it?"

"I said I would, before, didn't I?"

"Right." Cloud laughed, soft and a little wheezy, away from the phone. "Gonna need it, Barret and I don't have a clue. What're the jobs?"

"Nanaki should be waiting near Midgar. Tell him the meeting place will be near the Chocobo Farm this time."

"Sure, no problem."

"I'll call you back with details about the other job." And then Vincent hung up.

A moment later, Cloud sent a text that read, {later}. He did not try to call again.

Vincent walked back to the bench, stowing his phone in a random pocket. Cid and Yuffie watched his approach with open curiosity. Vincent touched his fingertips against Cid’s knee. When Cid offered up the rest of his cigarette, Vincent held his hand up in refusal. Cid shrugged, took a deep drag, and then stubbed it out on the table.

“Have you thought about where we’re staying for a year?”

“Nah-uh, s’been a fuck of a lot goin’ on.”

“Come to Wutai!” Yuffie leaned on one hand, crowding close enough to Cid to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “You could help with restoration out in the country.”

“Might not be too bad.” Cid nudged Yuffie with his elbow, forcing her to give him a little space. “But that ain’t what you’re anglin’ for is it, starshine?”

With a shake of his head, Vincent said, “I’m not opposed, but no.”

“Aww. Well, come visit anyway, okay? No need to be _total_ hermits just ‘cuz the law said so.”

“Sure, girly, now hush the fuck up and let Vince spit it out.”

Yuffie stuck her tongue out at Cid, but she did quiet down.

With two pairs of eyes watching him, Vincent made himself breathe slow and deep. He focused on the press of dog tags against his chest, the steady beat of a heart that would never age, never change.

“...I told you I had things to show you, Cid. If you’re willing, I have somewhere we can stay.”

“What, really?” Cid sat up straighter, blinking. He waved his hand sharply downwards. “The hell, how many hidey holes ya got, Valentine?”

“This isn’t…” The words stuck in his throat like mud and Vincent tucked his face into the mantle of his cape. He wanted the conversation to be over with, wanted to be able to get right to the point and move on. He barely managed to murmur, “It’s not that.”

“Hey, starshine, c’mon…” Cid slid off the table, reaching to run his hand up Vincent’s right arm. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, sorry.”

“Uhh, woah, is this a private conversation, should I be somewhere else?” Yuffie asked.

“Prolly, girlie.”

She hopped off the bench, making a show of dusting her shorts off. “Okay, well, thanks for lunch. I’ll catch you guys later!”

Vincent shifted his weight on the foot nearest to her, half turning. “Yuffie.”

“Yeah?”

“...Nanaki will be at the Chocobo Farm.”

“You sent him to the _farm_?”

Cid snickered. “He's gettin’ long in the tooth already.”

“Poor Nanaki, aged overnight because of all the stupid adults he knows…” Yuffie shook her head sadly.

“Pssht, prolly all them fuckin’ cat pictures ya keep hammerin’ him with.”

“They’re funny, unlike _you_!”

“Like hell they are!”

Vincent rolled his eyes, exhaling shakily. His rib cage felt like a sprung trap, the teeth piercing through his lungs. Little by little, the bones seemed to spread back out, releasing him. The faint tremor of tension through his body faded. “...Meet us at the farm in a week.”

“Sure!” Yuffie gave two thumbs up. “You gonna explain why we’re not meeting up at Midgar?”

Meeting Cid’s ice blue eyes, Vincent asked, “Do you want to see the place of my birth?”

“Fuck, really?” Cid clapped his hand against Vincent’s shoulder, grinning. “Ya got any relatives left ya been hidin’ from us?”

“Distant cousins, perhaps, but no.”

On his other side, Yuffie bounced closer, jostling his gauntlet without fear of the claws. “Does this mean I get to go with, Vinny?”

“If you like.”

“Awesome!” She threw her hand up towards Cid, palm first. “We’re gonna solve the mystery of where the gloomy coffin dweller came from at last!!”

Cid clapped his hand against hers, grinning. “Guess I oughta get my ass arrested more often, huh?”

“Don’t you dare.” Vincent snagged Cid by the tie and gave it a yank to force the other man to stumble closer. He put his face inches from Cid’s, close enough that they could kiss, if not for the barbed crackle of fury knotting up in his gut. As always, his face felt frustratingly slack, useless for conveying the depth of emotion he felt. Even his voice failed him, sounding too flat as he said, “If you ever pull something like this again, I will bury you in the Valentine crypts.”

Swallowing, Cid glanced between the fist gripping the tie and Vincent’s face. “...Sure, starshine, message received loud and fuckin’ clear.”

“...Wooahhh, your family has crypts?” Yuffie gaped up at Vincent with stars in her eyes. She didn’t seem to care for personal space anymore, all but clinging to Vincent’s side. “Are they like, mega rich?? Is there _treasure_?”

With a low huff, Vincent released Cid, shook Yuffie off, and turned to leave. At their inquisitive shouts, he lifted his claw, then dissolved into red smoke, flowing away to find somewhere quiet to sit until his emotions settled down.


	24. born inside my dreams

From atop the highest point in the WRO base, a water tower with their logo painted on the side, Vincent saw the horizon as sky and sea joined in one endless expanse of blue. The wind ran through his hair and pulled at his cloak, as if to invite him to fly with it. Junon lay behind him, its bustle of urban life too distant to be heard over the wind. It reminded him of the Highwind, of standing out on the decks as they soared the world over to save it. Keeping his distance then for similar reasons as the here and now.

His anger smoldered, a low fire that never went out. Logically, Vincent knew it came of being concerned and afraid for Cid's well being. He knew that Cid only made light of things to cope when he had no meaningful outlets. The WRO couldn't let a probationary offender tamper with their machinery, after all.

Knowing didn't seem to stop his emotions from existing, however. Didn't stop the ache to burst from his skin and run and run and _run_. Vincent licked at his teeth uneasily, but they felt no sharper than usual. The beast remained trapped behind his ill-fitting guise of humanity. For now.

The clank and rattle of someone climbing the ladder drew Vincent's attention. He pulled his legs up from where they dangled over the edge of the metal platform, crouching in preparation of standing.

A few minutes later, Reeve's head came into view. His sweat-soaked hair lay in messy tangles, thanks to the wind, and he panted harshly, more than a little red in the face from the exertion. Vincent made no move to help him, watching in stunned silence as Reeve hauled himself up the rest of the way and flopped gracelessly on his side to catch his breath.

"...No outfits today?" Vincent asked, after a while.

"No, ah, this..." Reeve pushed himself upright, sitting on his knees. He pushed a hank of hair out of his face. Then he wrinkled his nose, rubbing the sweat off on his slacks. "You were right, you know. I was... a neglectful friend."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! I should always have time for my friends--"

"No, it doesn't matter that I was right," Vincent clarified, turning his face away. He studied the distant horizon and no longer found any joy in it. His skin crawled for having someone staring at him.

"Oh... Hm."

Silence, but for the sound of Reeve's breathing gradually slowing and the snap of their clothes caught by the wind. Vincent closed his eyes and waited. Like the rest of AVALANCHE, Reeve could not let well enough alone. Not when he'd made a point of climbing all the way up there in person.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, Reeve spoke up. "I want to apologize, Vincent."

"I know."

"I should have done better, should have made the time to check on him--"

"Yes."

"...You're not making this very easy, you know."

Vincent opened his eyes to peer sidelong at Reeve through the fall of his hair. He did not make the effort to turn fully towards the other man. "I'm not the one you owe apologies to."

"I've already spoken with Cid." Reeve huffed a humorless laugh. "When I said I was sorry, he cussed me out for wasting time. You know how he is..."

"Hn."

"Besides, you're the one most upset about this. Justifiably so, but all the same... I've always believed in tackling problems at their core, and-- Vincent, please, how do I make this right?"

"What does it matter?"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Are you sure you're not angling for more?"

"No-- I. Ah... I'm sorry." Reeve pushed himself to his feet, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. "I thought you of all of them understood what it was like to be on the edge of the group, not really accepted..."

Blinking, Vincent tipped his head back, looking at Reeve directly. Reeve did not meet his gaze, instead going to brace his hands on the railing near the ladder. He had his head down, shoulders slumped.

Flickers of memory slid by, distancing Vincent from the present.

The scrape of the coffin lid and mako blue eyes glowing in the dark. A girl’s voice, squawking with indignant boredom. A softer voice, chiding and gentle, and long brown hair that was too dark to be mistaken for Lucrecia’s. And then all the others, crowded in the mansion’s entryway, watching with wary curiosity.

They’d all looked at Vincent with something like fear, that first day. Once Cid joined them, he breezed past it quickly, blustering through Vincent’s weirdness like it meant nothing. Yuffie, ostracized for her kleptomania, chose to hang around Vincent because it kept the others away. And Cait Sith, operated by Reeve, meant less than nothing to them all until the very end because he was a traitor and a ShinRa spy.

Vincent could still smell the muggy stink of Midgar and Yuffie’s sweat and fear. Over the clamor of panicked citizens rushing from the city, he remembered seeing Reeve’s pale face, shouting orders through a megaphone, like the doll they all knew him through. Meteor bore down on them, its heat as hot as the fires of hell. Fearless or resigned, Reeve stood with them until the last citizen escaped. Until Vincent whisked the three of them away.

“I suppose.” Vincent shrugged a shoulder. “We were all the odd ones out.”

“Yes. We were, weren’t we...”

During the lull in the conversation, Vincent stood to prop his hip against the railing. He folded his arms, looking out at the sea, which glittered in the sunlight, leaving spots in his vision. Still, he kept his distance from Reeve, not yet certain they could reconcile so easily.

Reeve shifted his weight onto one elbow, angling his upper body towards Vincent. "Can we talk about it?"

"Are we not?"

With a snort, Reeve shook his head. "Okay… It's true, I... harbored more than friendly feelings for you, but I knew nothing could ever come of it.”

“My loyalties are to Cid and Cid alone.”

“Yes, and-- I mean no offense when I say this, but you and I are from entirely different worlds and... I don't think my reputation would survive, were I to become more involved with any of the former members of AVALANCHE."

"Hn. Politics as usual." Vincent tucked his face into his mantle, feeling a weight he hadn't known he was carrying slide off his back.

"Indeed. I apologize for making you uncomfortable by being... too friendly. I assumed too much."

"No.”

The apology stuck in his throat, barbed hooks catching tender flesh. Vincent swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to cough. He set his gaze to a fixed point somewhere to the left and above Reeve's shoulder to weather the storm until he could spit out what he needed to say.

_"You know... for someone who talks a lot about making amends..." Aerith stood with her fists propped against her lower back, bent forward to peer up into his face. Her green eyes were usually full of mirth, but she wasn't laughing then. "You're not very good at saying sorry, are you?"_

_Something he said made Tifa cry. He couldn't remember what, only that he'd blurted something after a long, exhausting day of battles._

_"...Sorry."_

_"Oh! So you can say it!"_

_"I suppose... my manners have rusted over from an eternity of night."_

_That startled Tifa into laughter, off behind Aerith. She doubled over, burying her tear-stained face in her hands. Aerith looked at the other girl with incredulity that gave away to giggles of her own._

"You're not the only one at fault," Vincent said as he blinked away the memories. "I... acted without thinking. Sorry."

"Then... Can we start over? Friends?"

"If you like."

"I would, yes, thank you." Reeve smiled, not the clever politician's smile but the little sad one that came with a crinkling of the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "I'll... try to be more mindful of boundaries, and please, don't let me forget my friends for the greater good."

"Alright." Vincent flicked at one of the loose buckles of his cape, looking down at his feet. "...Cid is not the only one who will benefit from this exile."

"I suppose... this means I won't see much of you for a while?"

"No."

"A shame." Sighing, Reeve dropped his head. "Will you try to keep in touch, for my sake?"

Not a promise he could make. Vincent shrugged, settling on one he could. "I won't lose my phone."

Reeve barked a short laugh, pushing away from the railing entirely. "Good! Send lots of pictures. Then I won't have to send Yuffie and Cait after you."

"She'll visit whether we ask her to or not."

"Haha, of course she will!"

The hand held out to him had grime and dirt from the climb. It did not look like the perfectly washed and manicured hand of a politician that ran the world. Vincent took it, careful not to squeeze too hard, and let Reeve guide them through the handshake. Then he pulled away, dropping his own gloved hand beneath the cloak.

"I should... get back down." Reeve moved towards the ladder and stood at the edge, looking down with his hands braced on the railings at either side. "Hm."

"Do you need help."

"Oh, uh... I don't-- I should be fine, probably! I don't want to impose..."

"Reeve."

"...Yes?"

Vincent moved close, holding Reeve's gaze. He reached out, settling his hand against the other man's shoulder. Brown eyes widened just before Vincent pushed, shoving Reeve off the edge. 

The Commissioner of the WRO let out a high pitched shriek that dwindled as he fell. Tilting his head, Vincent considered the sound for a moment. It resembled a kitten, wailing for its mother. Reeve certainly fit the cat analogies to a tee.

Then Vincent launched off of the water tower, becoming an incorporeal red blur. The lifestream surged around him, speeding his descent. He shot past Reeve with ease. The ground rushed up to meet him; he touched down gently, all his parts solidifying between one blink and the next.

As nearby guards swung their guns up, Vincent stuck his arms out. A moment later, Reeve landed in them with another yelp. He clung to Vincent, like he thought he would be dropped.

"You're down," Vincent said.

"You--!!" Reeve shoved at Vincent's shoulders, with little effect. "That is--!!"

Vincent waited until Reeve finished flailing around, then set the other man down. He stood back to watch Reeve stagger away on stiff legs. Like a cat, again, but one that was spooked instead of annoyed.

“Is it not what friends do, help one another?”

"I-- no-- you’re right, uh, good talk, Vincent-- I'm, I'm going."

"Hm."

Reeve's guards exchanged glances, then lowered their guns and fell into formation to follow him. Vincent folded his arms as he watched them go, tilting his head to one side. The fury boiling beneath the surface sank down to faint embers. He felt much calmer, with one less irritation to deal with before Cid’s exile.

Time, then, to find Cid and find out what the next step was.

Though he could have easily gone to find a guard to show him through the base, Vincent chose to become incorporeal again, flowing through the air. He passed Reeve, ruffling the man's already rumpled hair, and then sailed towards the nearest building. There, Vincent slid through the cracks in a vent near the door. As he navigated the labyrinth of ventilation shafts, avoiding active fans only because the blasts of air sent all his parts eddying this way and that, he cast his senses out through the lifestream.

The dead whispered secrets only half understood, while the living blazed all around him, unaware of his presence. He bypassed those he did not recognize, zeroing in on more familiar auras. Vincent paused at each long enough to put names to faces where he could remember them, and then moved on. Like connecting stars to form a constellation, he flew from one corner of the base to the next, following a trail of white hot sparks. At its end, Cid's life force shone brighter than those around him.

 _We can change that,_ She whispered, full of promise.

Vincent tumbled out of the vents, becoming solid once more, and landed in a crouch at Cid's feet. His cloak rippled and settled as he lifted his head. The room was another conference room, with a table and chairs.

"Holy _fuck_!" Cid yelled. He swung his arm and knocked his mug over, spilling tea everywhere. "Warn a guy!"

Shera shot to her feet, shoving her napkin across the table to try and stop the flow from reaching a nearby stack of papers. "Captain!"

Only Lucrecia seemed unsurprised at Vincent's arrival, staring at him with eyes a little too green. He met her gaze and gave a very slight head shake. She blinked the color away, nodding, and stood to help Shera and Cid clean up.

"Sorry," Vincent said.

"Fuckin'... Shit!" Cid scoffed, waving a hand downwards. "Guessin' you're feelin' better, so sit the hell down, have some goddamn tea. We're just finishin' up."

Vincent took the chair next to Cid's, mindful not to sit on his cape. Cid dragged the tray of tea fixings over, muttering softly under his breath, and poured them both fresh cups. He waggled the kettle in Shera's and Lucrecia's direction, but they both declined.

"Okay, since we didn't irrevocably stain our hard work and have to do it over again, _and_ Vincent's here, saving us the trouble of going to find him..." Shera shot Vincent a rueful smile, pushing her glasses up. "...Should we discuss an itinerary for the next week, and long term plans following?"

"Prolly." Cid shrugged and blew on the top of his tea. He glanced sidelong at Vincent, raising a brow. "Where _are_ we goin', exactly?"

"I'd rather not discuss it right now." With a pointed look at the two WRO Agents near the door, Vincent took a sip of his tea. It was scalding and bitter, just the way he liked it.

Cid caught the look and shrugged. "Yeah, well, they're gonna be ridin' my ass 'til the week's up, so..."

Shera sighed. "At the least, please tell me you're taking the Captain somewhere with adequate shelter..."

"He’s gonna take me and bury me in some damn crypts, last I heard."

"You're taking him to the Valentine estate, Vincent?" Lucrecia asked.

Vincent sighed into his tea. As usual, the people he associated with just could not let things be. Discretion was a foreign concept found only in novels.

" _Estate_?" Cid spun his chair towards Vincent to nudge his knees against the side of Vincent's chair. "The hell, man, your family fuckin' loaded or somethin'?"

"Not as such, no." Vincent set his claw against Cid's knee, firmly pushing him out of range for any further jostling. "Not that I have a say, but I won’t stop you if you’d like to inspect the premises to ensure it is suitable for the keeping of uncouth pilots. Perhaps you can advise me on enrichment."

Over Cid's half-hearted, "Hey," Shera laughed into her fist.

Lucrecia toyed with her mug, not looking up. "I'd like to see it. If that's really... okay."

“Don’t expect much.”

“It’ll be enough to pay my respects.”

Instead of telling Lucrecia that his father’s remains had never been returned, Vincent downed more tea. He set the cup aside, then sank back into his chair, hiding his face behind hair and mantle. Cid scooted back over to press their knees together, but otherwise, no one pushed at him for more details.

"Alright, Captain, I'm going to deliver these..." Shera stood up, gathering the papers. She put them into various manilla folders, and those into a large orange envelope with a string and button latch. "...Do we want to go home today?"

"I'm good with that." Cid jostled his knee against Vincent's. "Vince?"

Vincent shrugged one shoulder. "The sooner the better."

"Can I walk with you, Shera?" Lucrecia asked.

"Of course!" Shera smiled, bobbing her head. "Make sure you call your aunt, Cid... I'll text you when our ride home is ready."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

With that, the two women collected the rest of their things and left the room, arm-in-arm. That left Vincent and Cid alone, but for the two watchful Agents by the door. Cid huffed something nasty under his breath, digging around in his pockets. He pulled his phone out and slouched in his chair as he tapped at it.

"You had yours?"

"Nah-uh, Shera did." Cid hooked his thumb underneath the silver chain around his neck, pulling it away from his skin without tugging it all the way out from inside his shirt. "Got tags, too, so's the pound knows who the fuck to call if I go strayin' again."

"Good."

Cid let go of the chain and spun in his chair to face the Agents. "Hey, ya mind fuckin' off?"

"Sir, we're not to--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I just meant standin' _outside_. I ain't fuckin' goin' nowhere."

The Agents exchanged looks. The pale-haired man on the left shrugged, then left the room. The woman hesitated, shook her head, and said, "You have five minutes."

After the door shut behind her, Cid said, "Guess we ain't havin' a quickie..."

" _Cid_ ," Vincent hissed. The back of his neck felt warm, and he cast a sharp look towards the door, as if he expected ordinary humans to be able to hear them through it.

"Shit, it's been nearly two weeks, gimme a fuckin' break."

Sighing, Vincent tried to derail Cid's thoughts from their inevitable slide towards the gutter. "Has it been that long since you spoke to your family?"

"Sure, but Shera's been keepin' 'em in the loop."

"Hmm..." Flicking his claws in a _go on_ gesture, Vincent slid further away. "There's space for you in the crypts."

"Ha ha."

Even over someone else's phone, _all_ of the Highwinds could get very loud. No doubt Betty would have more than a few choice words for her wayward nephew, as well as an excess of tears. Vincent didn't envy Cid one bit.

“After this, ya wanna go find somewhere quiet and…” Cid waggled his eyebrows, grinning.

“Not interested.”

“Aww, ya don’t even wanna _cuddle_?”

“We both know that isn’t what you meant.”

Cid stuck his tongue out, then winked. “Hey, when we get our asses back to Rocket Town, go out on a date with me.”

“With your guard dogs in tow?”

“Could lose ‘em.”

“A fine start to your probationary period, Highwind.”

“Ehh. Ya wanna go out with me or not, starshine?”

“We’ll see.”

With an agreeable hum, Cid tapped his thumb against the green call button on his phone’s screen, then set the phone against his shoulder, a good several inches away from his ear. The sound of the line ringing came tinnily over the speaker. Vincent folded his arms and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander.


	25. until you die for me

By the time Aunt Betty finished her weepy scolding, a good forty-five minutes had passed. The WRO Agents checked in only once, then retreated from the potential of being dragged into the shouting match. Cid's phone lit up with new texts the moment he hung up. He thumbed through them one-handedly while rubbing at his ear, muttering choice swears under his breath.

“Hey, Valentine, that’s our cue. Got a bird gettin’ the fuck outta this shithole.”

Vincent unfolded from the chair, one limb at a time. His sense of self slid back into place lazily, drifting down from his far away thoughts of sunlight slanting through his bedroom windows. With a blink, reality clicked back into place, everything sharpening all at once. He stood up and stepped towards Cid. He brushed his gloved fingers against the red indent on the side of Cid's face where the phone had been pressed too hard for too long.

"Hey," Cid said, smiling. He leaned into the touch. "Ya gonna save me from the dogpile when we get back?"

"No, it is what you deserve."

"Fuckin' harsh, Vince."

"Hmm." Vincent trailed his fingers up, over the scar on Cid's brow, usually covered by tape. "And yet." He bent to press a kiss to the scar, mouthing the words he still couldn't say.

"...Still a no to sneakin' a date?"

"What's the rush? You'll have plenty of time to become sick of me during your exile."

"Nah-uh, I never will." Cid grabbed Vincent's hand, squeezing lightly. "S'prolly gonna be our last fuckin' chance to eat out, s'all."

"Cid... I'd rather not get you into anymore trouble."

"Ugh. Fine, I'll ask for goddamn _permission_. Then will ya?"

"I might."

"Fuckin' alright!"

After planting a sloppy kiss against Vincent's chin, Cid ducked to grab something from under the table. He came back up with the silly plastic bucket in hand and looked entirely too pleased with himself. Though it rattled as he thrust it out towards Vincent, the noise did not seem in line with the bathroom amenities it once contained.

"Here ya go!"

Vincent hooked his false fingers around the handle, mindful as always of the sharp edges of the talons. He glanced between Cid's expectant grin and the lid, then sighed. Whatever surprise lay inside clearly could not wait, or else Cid might vibrate right out of his skin from impatience. Vincent pried the lid off and peered inside.

"Ah."

Inside, resting on a bed of his favorite dark chocolates, strawberry candy sticks, and snack-sized bags of cone-shaped chips, was the next book to a supernatural mystery series he liked. Vincent tipped his head to the side, eyelashes fluttering nearly shut.

"How did you manage this while under guard?"

"Got my ways, starshine."

“By which you mean you pestered someone ‘til they gave in.”

“Pfft, nah-uh, they fuckin’ _asked_ if I wanted anything.” Cid flicked his fingers as if to sweep away all accusations. “I’d say sue me, but I’m damn sick of fuckin’ ‘round in courtrooms.”

_I don't deserve you,_ rattled around inside his skull, trapped like moths behind his eyes. Vincent said, too soft, "Thank you."

Cid flashed a grin, shrugging, like his thoughtfulness was no big deal. "Seemed like ya had it 'bout as rough lately, and we got a long ass week ahead of us..."

"If your guard dogs say no, let me cook for you."

"What, really?"

"Mhm."

Nothing beat the way Cid's eyes lit up, not by mako but by sheer force of joy. His grin stretched wider as he crowded into Vincent's space. "That'd be fuckin' swell, if ya feelin' up to it."

With casual care, Vincent secured the lid to the bucket and lowered it to his side. "I would not offer if I weren't." Then he bent until their mouths were a breath apart. "...Shouldn't we get going."

"Prolly."

Cid threw his arms around Vincent's shoulders, closing that last sliver of distance. Kissing like he meant to channel the entire depth of his elation between them, humming every time their lips moved together, and outright making sinful noises when their tongues touched. How long they slipped between one kiss to the next, Vincent did not know. He was the first to pull away, though, turning his face aside. Cid brushed wet lips against Vincent's cheeks and jaw before finally backing off.

Eyeing Cid, Vincent licked his lips. With a sheepish laugh, Cid rubbed the heel of his hand against his mouth. Vincent glanced south, then away, brushing past Cid to go to the door.

"Fuck," Cid muttered.

The Agents straightened from their slouches against the walls on either side of the door when Vincent stepped out into the hall. He moved to the middle of the hallway to wait. Cid came ambling out a minute or two later, smoking a cigarette and strutting with exaggerated bow-legged movements that distracted from how rumpled he was.

"We needa go to this shithole's airstrip, so one of y'all better get your asses movin' to open the way."

"Sir."

The male agent half-sprinted to get ahead of Cid. Every time he tried to slow down to a normal walking pace, Cid would walk a little faster just to hurry him along. Vincent pretended not to notice, hiding his amusement in the cowl of his cape as he kept Cid's uneven pace with ease. The woman lagged behind them, and huffed a little every time she was forced to hurry along, her well-polished shoes clack-clack-clacking off the tiles.

Cid kept up his spiteful game all throughout the base, through two cigarettes and many locked doors.

Valerie and her plane awaited them at the airstrip. The pilot stood under one of the wings, conversing with Shera. On spotting them, the two women waved. Cid made a beeline for them, leaving the WRO agents in his dust. Vincent had no trouble keeping up with him.

"Oi, Captain!" Valerie called, as they neared. "Hear tell you're gonna be scarce for a while."

"A whole fuckin' year."

"I'm sure Cid will find ways to keep himself occupied," Shera said. She cast a sly glance at Vincent, smiling. Then she checked her watch, tipping her head side to side as if a different angle might make the time clearer. “Assuming you actually called your aunt, she let you go sooner than I expected…”

“I called her, alright, shit, y’all raggin’ on my ass, ain’t nothin’ gonna be left! Vince’ll hafta sweep the scraps up to bury.”

Vincent pinched a ragged strip of his cloak, lifting the edge. He released it as soon as he had everyone’s attention. “Don’t have a dustpan, Chief.”

Valerie laughed. "Well, you know the boys and I will come runnin' if you need us for somethin'."

"'Ppreciate it." Cid lifted his foot to stub his cigarette out on the heel of his boot. He stowed the butt in his pocket. "Am I sittin' 'round like an asshole, or do I getta fly?"

"Iunno, you got, oh, six Agents on my plane all up in arms 'bout how you might bite."

With a sharp upward motion resembling an aborted middle finger, Cid scoffed. "I ain't fuckin' gonna do shit in midair! Get our asses splattered 'cross the fuckin' countryside, shit, what's the damn point?"

"It should be fine." Shera adjusted her glasses, then brushed her hands down the front of her skirt. "The WRO has limited juridstriction in the air, and their orders are to allow you leniency so far as it comes to keeping you calm."

"Damn fuckin' right. How's 'bout it, Valerie?"

"I _suppose_ I can let you copilot. Kick your ass to the Northern Crater if you start chewin' on the furniture."

"Ha fuckin' _hah_." Cid spun on his heel towards Vincent and leaned closer. “Ya gonna be okay sittin’ passenger alone?”

Wordless, Vincent hefted his bucket. He thought it self-explanatory what he would do to keep himself occupied. Cid grinned, giving a jaunty little salute.

Shera said, “He’ll have Lucy and I, Captain…”

“Right! Countin’ on y’all.”

While they spoke, two WRO Agents got off the plane to exchange words with the two that had escorted Cid across the base. The latter two saluted sharply, then left without a word. Released from their duties, then, and not to be forced to come all the way to Rocket Town to put up with anymore of Cid’s shenanigans. Vincent wondered if they knew how lucky they were, as Cid was not likely to mind the rules quite so well in his home territory.

Valerie stomped over to clap one of the Agents on the arm. “The Captain’s joinin’ me in the cockpit. You lot can take the seats up front, but you ain’t comin’ into my cockpit. There won’t be no room.”

“Ma’am, that’s not--”

“You want the man to keep his head on straight, don’t you?” Valerie said, already ascending the stairs to board the plane. “That’s what I thought. Let’s go, folks!”

Since Valerie left them no choice, everyone filed onto the plane one at a time. Vincent brought up the rear, reluctant to begin the tedious hours of vibration, noise, and swaying even as he looked forward to Cid gaining partial freedom. Valerie's usual co-pilot shut the door behind him, locking them all inside the flying tin can.

Vincent cast a quick look around the cabin, taking note of the six WRO Agents. Two sat in the chairs closest to the front of the plane, in the aisle so that they had easy access to the narrow hall leading to the cockpit. Two more sat near the door, watching Vincent with wary interest. The last two were in the very back, preventing escape into what Vincent assumed was the cargo bay.

The co-pilot slipped past Vincent with a murmured, "Excuse me." He went towards the front of the plane to sit behind one of the Agents, presumably so he could go assist in the cockpit as needed.

Shera and Lucrecia sat together in the middle, as far from anyone else as they could get. Lucrecia had headphones on, watching something on her laptop, while Shera sat near the window with her elbow propped on the arm of her chair so she could look outside. Vincent hesitated to join them until Shera waved him over. As the seats came in pairs, he took the seat across the aisle from them and set his bucket on the chair next to him.

Through the muffled instructions to remain seated and buckled in, the warnings of how long until lift off, and all the other usual pilot chatter, Vincent sat quiet and still.

Only when they achieved lift off did Vincent retrieve his new book from the bucket. He read all through the flight, only looking up to reassure himself that everything was exactly as it should be. Lucrecia dozed against Shera's shoulder, her hair hanging in her face. Shera fidgeted with her handheld gaming device, the lights reflecting off her glasses. The Agents sat ramrod straight, watchful and tense. The co-pilot flipped through a magazine, bouncing his leg.

Not being able to see Cid during these checks pained Vincent. He tried to console himself with the fact that he could feel the man's presence through the lifestream, and occasionally hear his gruff voice over the intercom. It only partially worked.

The book helped, as did the snacks. Vincent crunched through his chips as he followed a favorite protagonist through the mystery of bodies found in a ghost town. He guessed the solution to the mystery halfway through, but kept reading for the prose and the potential for romance to finally take off with the protagonist's rival and object of desire.

The flight passed without incident and they touched down in Rocket Town in the early evening. Vincent tapped his claws against the side of the book as he frowned towards the window, annoyed that he still had a few chapters left. Freedom from the plane would undoubtedly leave him with little breathing room to finish it until much later.

Above the wing, Vincent saw the sky as an orange streak. In the distance, the lights lining the airstrip winked like stars. He counted them as he tucked an empty chip bag into the book, then stowed it in his bucket. Then he counted the seconds until the crew rolled the stairs up to the plane to let them all out.

The two Agents nearest the door got off the plane first, followed by Shera and Lucrecia. The co-pilot went up to the cockpit. Vincent remained seated until Cid came into view; he rose from his seat and waited until Cid passed before following him out. The Agents converged on them, four behind and the other two waiting at the foot of the stairs.

A faded green-and-yellow buggie awaited them out on the tarmac. Lucrecia leaned against the passenger door, talking quietly to Shera through the window. She straightened up, wiggling her fingers with a tired smile, as Cid and Vincent approached. The WRO agents fanned out around the vehicle, two to each side, and one at either end.

"Forgot to ask how the house looks," Cid said, coming to a stop next to Lucrecia so he could peer into the buggie at Shera.

Shera sat in the driver's seat, making adjustments. Whoever drove the vehicle last had much longer legs than her and liked the steering wheel set very low. "I had people out to tarp the windows up and fix the fences, that's all." With a grunt, she shoved the steering wheel up. "Sorry, Captain."

"Nah-uh, s'okay, that's plenny." Cid waved the apology away with a lopsided grin. He glanced skyward, giving the streaks of clouds marring the twilit horizon due consideration. "Least it keeps the rain outta our shit. What 'bout the She Devil and the vault?"

"The WRO is still on guard at the property, and I recruited Mandy to look after the She Devil."

"Shiiit, lockdown, huh." Leaning away from the buggie, Cid called out towards the two guards idling on their side of the vehicle. "Y'all plannin' on keepin' me corralled at my place, or what?"

"Sir, that would be ideal. The premises is already secure, I'm assuming for Mr. Valentine's benefit..."

Vincent flicked a claw against his cape, making the tattered ends flutter. He thought about how much damage had been done to the house, but he couldn't make himself voice his concerns about Cid catching a cold staying there. Or getting injured somehow, like the stairs collapsing under his weight or stepping on glass or--

The murmur of his friends' voices became distant as his mind conjured up more scenarios, each worse than the last. His fingers twitched against the gun holster. The keychain clinked and scraped against the leather, swinging before settling again, the Cerberus charm rough and bumpy beneath his gloved fingertips.

"Hey, starshine, c'mon," Cid's voice called Vincent back to the present. "Let's go stay the night at the Shera's, huh? Deal with the fuckin' mess with full daylight."

"Alright."

As Lucrecia got into the front seat, Cid yanked the back passenger door open and hopped in. He held his hand out towards Vincent, though his help wasn't necessary. Vincent took the hand anyway, face softening as Cid gave a fond squeeze right before pulling him in. They settled in their seats close together, neither bothering with seatbelts. Before any of the WRO could get in, Vincent slammed the door shut in their faces.

"Hah! Let's go, Shera, the fuckers can walk."

Rolling her eyes, and rolling the window down, Shera leaned out on one elbow. "Excuse me, we're going ahead now. To my house, since the Captain's isn't up to living standards."

"Ma'am, are you sure, we really should--"

"It'll be fine, thank you."

"Uh. Very well, ma'am, we'll send two agents over." Sighing, the Agent backed away, waving off his cohorts.

The very moment the Agents all stepped out of the way, Shera put her foot on the gas pedal, urging the buggie forward. She didn't speed, exactly, but she sure seemed to be driving a little faster than she needed to, as if she half expected the WRO to change their minds. They left the airstrip in short order and made their way down the road to Shera's house.

Cid shifted closer to Vincent, lining their legs up and pressing his shoulder into Vincent's side. He still held onto Vincent's hand, giving it a squeeze every time the buggie ran over a bump.

"Glad to be home, Cid?" Lucrecia asked, voice raised to be heard over the rattle and roar of the engine.

"Fuck yeah! Sorry we'll be up your asses, though!"

"It's fine, Captain," Shera said. "It'll be my last chance to get breakfast out of you for a while, barring visiting whatever cave you two decide to hermit in."

Vincent sighed through his nose. "It won't be a cave..."

"Nah-uh, it'll be crypts!" Cid jostled his shoulder against Vincent, grinning up at him. "Real fancy ones, I bet, with fuckin' candles and iron wrought gates."

Lucrecia draped her arm over the back of the front seats, twisting her upper body around so that she could face Cid. She motioned with her upturned hand, fingers swaying as if to imitate the flicker of flames. "The Valentines burn their bodies."

"The hell they need crypts for, then?"

"For the dogs."

"...dogs?"

"Lucrecia," Vincent said, a warning note in his voice.

She shot him a furtive look, gave a very slight apologetic shrug, and shrank back into her seat. Restlessly, she reached for the radio and began to fidget with it, flicking through the stations, even though Shera's house was already in view.

Cid squinted up at Vincent, his whole face screwed up with confusion. "What the fuck's that about?"

"Time."

"Ugh."

Pushing away, Cid flopped dramatically back against the seat. He dragged his hands down his face, pulling at skin to reveal the tender pink insides of his lower eyelids, but said no more.

A minute or two later, Shera pulled into her driveway, braking a couple feet from the front door. She pulled hard on the parking brake. The thing groaned, then clicked; as the brakes locked, the whole buggie rocked forward sharply before settling.

Cid stomped his feet down on the floor, bracing himself to keep from smacking face first into the front seat. "Shit, Sher!"

"Sorry, guys, this one's overdue for some maintenance..." Shera pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I should have specified which buggie."

Lucrecia patted at Shera's shoulder, then got out to make her way to the back of the buggie. Shera cast one last apologetic look into the rearview mirror before following. Vincent waited, unmoving, listening as the women opened the back hatch to get their luggage. Beside him, Cid shifted as if to get up.

"We gettin' out?"

"In a minute."

"Not doin' nothin' weird in Shera's driveway, Valentine."

Vincent closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. "No."

"You coming, Captain, Vincent?"

"In a minute!" Cid called. "Go on!"

"Okay..."

Shera slammed the back hatch shut, then headed for the house with Lucrecia right behind her. While she unlocked the front door, Lucrecia glanced back, worry etching lines on her face. Then they vanished inside the house, warm yellow lights flicking on to mark their progress through the rooms.

"What's up, Vince?" Cid nudged their knees together, slouched back against the window with his elbows propped on the armrest.

"The house... where will we stay, if it's not safe there?"

"Iunno, lil early to be worryin' 'bout it, innit?"

"No."

That made Cid snort, his lips curling up in the beginnings of a grin. "Yeah, alright, if ya gonna fret..."

"I'm not wining and dining you here, Highwind. Or somewhere you might get tetanus."

" _Oh_." Blinking, Cid sat up to brace his arms on his knees, suddenly all vested interest. "S'that what this is 'bout?"

Vincent shrugged a shoulder, not meeting Cid's gaze.

"Well, shit, Iunno. Can't stay at the inn, ain't got a kitchen. I'll check 'round, see if anybody's got a place they're rentin' out."

"Do you really think anyone is going to rent to _us_ on short notice?"

"I'm Captain Cid fuckin' Highwind, why _wouldn't_ someone rent to me!?"

Very slowly and deliberately, Vincent looked at Cid, top to bottom and back again. "I can't imagine why."

Without another word, Vincent opened the passenger door and got out of the buggie. He remembered to grab his silly plastic bucket, too, pretending to ignore Cid's indignant shout. Halfway to the house, Cid sprang out of the buggie and caught up to him, grabbing him by the upper arm.

"You're a real jackass, yanno that, Valentine?"

"And yet..."

"Yeah, and fuckin' _yet_ , I'm crazy 'bout ya.” Cid twisted the fabric of Vincent’s sleeve in his fingers as his grip tightened. “I'll get ya a damn kitchen to cook in, okay? Even if it means cleanin' the house up my damn self. So don't fuckin' fret none. Fuckin’... trust me, okay?”

Vincent lifted his claws and set the backs of them against Cid's cheek. Beneath the cool metal, Cid seemed to simmer down, sucking in deeper breaths. His shoulders shrank, the tension uncoiling, and while the heat in his eyes didn’t fade, it did soften, becoming more inviting. Vincent could not resist resting his forehead against Cid’s, however briefly.

"As you wish."


	26. as long as there's light

The very moment he kicked his boots off by the front door, Cid made a beeline for the kitchen. "Man, I'm fuckin' starvin'! What's for dinner, Sher?"

"I suppose that depends on what we have available..."

Shera rummaged through her bags, which she'd piled on the couch. Lucrecia sprawled on the armchair nearby, looking as frazzled and tired as Vincent felt.

Cid, taking that as an invitation to investigate, went to the fridge. He opened the door and frowned. Vincent drifted over to peer over his shoulder. The pristine white shelves inside held a distinct lack of edible foodstuff, but for a few half-empty juice jugs, days old Wutaiian gone crusty, and far too many condiments for a household of two who rarely ate at home.

"What the fuck, ladies! There ain't shit all in here. The hell ya eat, rainbows and moon farts?"

"Oh, I... I'm sorry," Lucrecia said. "I forgot to get groceries."

"...What _did_ you eat, Lu?" Shera set her laptop on the back of the couch, balancing it so that it wouldn't topple to the floor, then went over to brush Lucrecia's hair out of her face.

"Umm... Cafeteria grub, maybe, I think."

"Honestly, you're a doctor, you should know better..."

"I'm sorry!"

"Oh, don't fret, dearheart."

"Well, this is real fuckin' cute and all, but what the hell we gonna eat tonight?"

Cid shut the fridge door a little hard, making the whole thing rattle. A cutesy astronaut pig magnet fell off and bounced across the floor. Vincent backed away as Cid bent to grab it. The thing suffered no harm from its impromptu journey, and Cid slapped it back onto the door as he stood back up.

"I'll order pizza," Shera said, already reaching for her phone. "What does everybody want?

"Fuckin' alright! Gimme one that's loaded with every meat and peppers."

When Shera turned her gaze on him, Vincent shrugged faintly. "I'll eat some of Cid's."

"Better make it two of 'em, then, Sher, 'cuz I'm fuckin' ravenous as hell. And some garlic knots, fuuuck, and wings, extra hot."

"Don't make yourself sick, Chief."

"Not gonna."

"Hmm..."

In the background, Shera asked, "Anything, Lu?"

"Umm... the white pizza, with the chicken? And bacon? What is it, the garlic sauce, or the alfredo?"

"Alfredo, I think." Shera fiddled with her phone, tongue tucked between her teeth so that the tip poked out at the corner of her lips. "Let's see..." As she tapped away, she murmured softly to herself and sank to sit on the couch, "Pepperoni pizza... alfredo and chicken... hm-hm..."

Vincent nudged his shoulder against Cid's, then walked towards the stairs. The only way he knew Cid followed him up was the faint creak of the stairs, as the man made no other sound.

The usual guest room awaited them, tidier than it had ever been when Cid lived there. Vincent entered to set his plastic bucket on the end of the bed. He shed his gun holster, then his cloak, rolling the holster inside to to set it by the bucket, then began to undo some of the belts on his arm.

Leaning in the doorway with his arms folded, Cid asked, "Somethin' up, starshine?"

"Not particularly."

"Uh-huh."

Cid entered the room, coming to a stop next to Vincent. He held his hands out, but did not make an immediate grab at Vincent's arm or his belts. For that, Vincent felt a quiet surge of gratitude and adoration. Wordless, he held his arm out, letting Cid take over the task. Each of the belts ended up in a loose coil on the bed.

"Ya want the rest off? Get washed up, maybe?"

Vincent shook his head faintly, but caught one of Cid's hands before he could retreat. Gently, Vincent guided Cid to the belt around his waist. Blue eyes narrowed with too sharp interest.

"That an invite, Valentine."

"Not with our exes in the house."

"Shera and I never dated, dammit."

"Your loss, Highwind."

Cid snorted and yanked a little too hard on the belt to undo it. Once, the move wouldn't have budged Vincent an inch. Enhanced strength made Vincent stumble forward until they were chest to chest. "Yeah, she's fuckin' _fine_ as hell, but too bad for her, I only got eyes for a certain sassy shithead..."

"...Your interest is noted, but I'm still not doing anything about it right now."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wanna go up to the roof and make out?"

"I might be inclined to _stargaze_ , if that is your desire."

"Oh, I got _plenny_ of desire."

Vincent planted his hand against Cid's face, preventing him from escalating the situation with kissing. In retaliation, Cid licked Vincent's palm, which did nothing to deter him from pushing Cid firmly but gently back, towards the bed. The backs of Cid's knees hit the bed and he threw his weight back, bouncing onto the mattress. He didn't let go of the belt in the process, yanking it free of Vincent's belt loops.

"You're a real goddamn tease, yanno that, Vince?"

"Hm."

Grinning, Cid wound the belt loosely around his hands, pulling it taught between them. He lifted it to his mouth, holding Vincent's gaze, and bit the leather.

"...The crow calling the raven black, I see." Vincent averted his gaze, chin tucked. He regretted taking his cloak off already, certain Cid could see the flush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks.

Cid laughed. "Sorry, I'll cut it out." He tossed the belt to the side, then let his arms drop to the mattress, spread akimbo on either side of him. "Whatcha wanna do 'til food's here?"

Still unable to look Cid in the eye and feeling too warm, Vincent sidestepped closer to the corner of the bed. He hooked the edges of his talons against the bucket's lid, prying it off. The plastic gained a few scratches, but he only had eyes for the unfinished book inside. Vincent plucked it from its nest of chocolates, then rounded the bed to sit near the headboard.

"Oh," Cid said. He did not say, _that's boring_ , for which Vincent was glad. Instead, Cid rolled onto his belly, folding his arms so he could rest his chin against them. "How's it?"

"Satisfactory."

"Awesome."

Vincent eyed the small amount of space Cid afforded him, then the man himself, who watched him with keen interest. Knowing Cid as he did, he knew that any attempt to bodily muscle into the space would be taken as an invitation of some kind. He tapped the book against his thigh, considering his options. His gaze strayed, following the taut stitching of the vest down Cid's spine to slacks bunched up over his legs.

"...Are you comfortable in your monkey suit now, Chief?"

"Huh?" Cid blinked, then snorted. "Nah-uh. Wonder if I left anything here..."

Just like that, the spell of his too heated interest broke. Cid rolled off the bed and ambled over to investigate the dresser. Vincent let out a breath, then quickly moved to stretch out in the newly abandoned space. To the rattle of Cid pawing through drawers, Vincent opened his book and sought out where he left off.

"Hey, alright!"

The thunk of a drawer being slammed shut startled Vincent. He jerked his head up, blinking away mental images of the protagonist chasing their rival-slash-love interest through the rain to find Cid shedding his vest and shirt. He dropped them unceremoniously on the floor. A well-worn pair of jeans, a pair of maroon boxer briefs, and a grubby white t-shirt lay draped atop the dresser.

Noticing Vincent’s staring, Cid paused with his hands on the borrowed belt around his waist. "...Should I be puttin' on a show for ya, starshine?"

"No." Vincent averted his gaze and lifted the book.

"Well, if ya change your mind..."

Then came the click of the belt being undone, followed by the ruffle and soft whump of pants being dropped. Vincent pointedly did not look up from the words on the page, though he could not focus on them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see Cid's legs, and he did not miss when boxers joined pants on the floor. Cid hummed a cheerful tune as he changed.

Vincent closed his eyes, inhaled soft and slow, and then buried himself in his book. The protagonist followed their rival into a dead end alleyway, but did not find anyone there. A shadow fell over them and over him.

"Hey," Cid said. He stood next to the bed, wearing only the t-shirt, the boxer briefs, his tags, and the pink ribbon.

"...Can I help you?"

"Just wanted to say thanks, for uh, puttin' up with me bein' a pushy ass." Awkwardly, Cid rubbed at the back of his head. "Didn't figure on gettin' outta that shit hole and... feels like I'm buzzin' out my fuckin' gourd. I don't mean to keep rilin' ya up."

"You're fine."

"Yeah? Cool."

Setting the top of the book against his chest, Vincent tilted his head back and to the left. "Are you just going to stand there?"

"Iunno, ya gonna move your ass over?"

"Too lazy to go around?"

"Fuck yeah I am." Cid put his hands on his hips and struck a heroic pose. "'Sides, ya warmin' that spot up."

"I haven't been here long enough to warm it..."

"Ha! You're a goddamn furnace, Vince."

With a sigh, Vincent relented, scooting over towards the middle of the bed. Cid climbed into the abandoned spot immediately, then draped himself against Vincent's side. He threw his arm over Vincent's middle, though his hand soon crept up to curl around the dog tags, right over Vincent’s heart. His eyes drifted shut with an extremely satisfied sigh.

Vincent waited until Cid finished getting settled, then draped his left arm around the other man's shoulders, mindful of the hard edges of the gauntlet. He held the book in his talons so that he could brush blond hairs away from Cid's forehead safely.

"...Really fuckin' glad you're not dead, starshine," Cid mumbled.

"Me, too."

Blue eyes opened a fraction, the glow spilling out from between blond lashes. Then Cid nuzzled closer, burying his face against the side of Vincent’s rib cage, underneath his arm. His breathing slowed, though he did not begin to snore, suggesting that he was not truly asleep.

In the peaceful quiet that followed, Vincent finished his book. Idly, he ran his fingers through Cid's hair as he read. Reality pressed comfortingly in on him through the weight of Cid's arm, the heat of breath radiating through his shirt, and the texture of hair beneath his fingertips. He could not imagine what he had done to deserve such an idyllic bliss, but the very minute he reached the last word of his book, he bent to nose at the top of Cid's head, eyes fluttering shut.

Shera found them like that a few minutes later. She hesitated in the doorway, knocking the back of her knuckles against the frame. As Cid and Vincent reluctantly pulled apart, she cleared her throat.

"Sorry to interrupt... Your guards and pizza are here."

"S'fine." Cid flopped his arm in her direction. "We'll be down in a sec, so don't fuckin' eat everything."

"Like anyone likes your spicy disaster pies," Shera shot back, with a smile. She let them be, heading back downstairs.

" _Ya_ like my spicy disaster pies, right, starshine?"

_I like you,_ Vincent thought, running his thumb along the red crease on Cid's skin that came of wrinkled sheets digging into his face. "...It'll do."

"Uh-huh." Cid caught his hand and held it still against his cheek. "That's praise, comin' from ya."

"Don't let it go to your head."

With a short bark of laughter, Cid pressed a quick kiss against the palm of Vincent's hand, then let go to roll off the bed. He retrieved his jeans, yanking them on as he hopped towards the door. His impatience for food charmed Vincent, who remained on the bed until Cid made it out to the hall.

"Hey, ya comin' starshine?"

Wordless, Vincent slid off the bed. On the way out of the room, he retrieved his gun holster from its red cocoon, lingering long enough to strap it to his leg before moving on, down the hall and down the stairs, two and a half steps behind Cid.

A single WRO Agent sat in the living room, awkwardly perched on the edge of the armchair with a canned soda in one hand. Without turning her head, she watched Cid and Vincent pass by. It made Vincent’s skin crawl, and he felt so irritated over not seeing the other Agent that he cast his senses outwards, seeking out the traces of life that patrolled around the house outside. Only then could he relax even a little.

In the kitchen, pizza boxes covered the counters and the middle of the table hosted a medley of canned sodas. Shera and Lucrecia already sat at the table with their servings, eating and gesticulating with slices as they spoke.

"--so he tells me," Lucrecia said, flapping her slice of pizza hard enough to knock a chunk of chicken off. It landed beside her plate, unnoticed. "That he doesn't want the medicine because it's bad luck to use anything from another living thing, but, um, he was just _fine_ helping harvest Mako, and last I heard, that's, that's..."

Shera, nodding, said, "The lifeblood of the planet, yeah."

"Right! So, I mean, it shouldn't be that big of a deal, it's not like we're _killing_ the bats for this..."

Cid went straight for the pizza. He grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboards, passing one over to Vincent, then started loading his with pizza, garlic knots, hot wings, and small dipping cups of garlic sauce and ranch dressing. "The hell y'all talkin' 'bout, bats and medicine?"

"Oh, um." Lucrecia took a bite of her pizza, chewing and swallowing. "It's um, okay, so vampire bats have, a, uh, anticoagulation agent in their spit, so their victims won't spurt blood out wildly..."

"Huh." Cid nibbled on a garlic knot, looking towards Vincent with a distant, thoughtful expression. "...Ya got somethin' like that, mister vampire?"

"I'm neither a vampire, nor a bat."

"Aw, ya sure?"

Vincent nudged Cid out of the way so that he could get a slice of pizza. He did not dignify the conversation with any further responses, choosing instead to begin picking pieces of ham off his pizza. Cid helped himself to the discards, adding them to his own slices.

Shera shook her soda can, making the liquid inside slosh. "I've got one for you."

"Yeah?" Lucrecia dabbed a napkin against the corner of her mouth, trying and failing to get sauce off her cheek.

"Did you know that one of the origins of the word bat is from the Nibelheim area? They called it _leđrblaka_ , or leather flapper."

"Leather flapper?!" Lucrecia and Cid shouted, simultaneous, right before cracking up.

Shera nodded, extremely satisfied with herself. "Yep."

"Holy shit, that's it, that's the fuckin' proof!" Cid spun towards Vincent, pointing. " _You're_ a leather flapper!"

Sighing, Vincent walked over to the table to sit down. Cid followed, plunking down in the chair right next to him, jostling and laughing.

"Vincent Valentine, leather flapper extraordinare," Shera said, over Lucrecia's continued giggles. "It sounds kind of dirty, doesn't it?"

"I ain't tellin' y'all shit 'bout what kinda leather flappin' he gets up to."

"No one's asking, anyway, Captain."

With a grunt, Cid took several bites of his pizza, chewing it up, and then opened his mouth to present the mashed up mess. He waggled his eyebrows, very pleased with himself.

Shera wrinkled her nose up. "Charming, Captain."

"The most," Vincent filled in, while Cid struggled to swallow his too large mouthful.

"He seems pretty ornery, maybe you should take him for a walk."

"If he doesn't make himself sick eating too much."

Cid thumped the flat of his hand on the table next to his plate. "I won't!" Then he coughed, noticing the way both Lucrecia and Shera went stiff and still. "...Shit, sorry, I _am_ bein' a lil ornery tonight."

"Mm-mm." Shera shook her head. "Nevermind it, Cid."

Picking a piece of meat off his pizza with his claws, Vincent pretended not to be watching the WRO Agent out of the corner of his eye. Like Shera and Lucrecia, she'd gone still at Cid's noisy display. Unlike them, she was armed, and her hand rested against the gun at her hip as she peered over the back of the couch into the kitchen.

The tense moment coiled tightly, the lull of conversation between the others fading to a distant buzz, the whole of reality sliding further and further away except for the readiness that came of preparing to draw and fire down a narrow tunnel of focus.

"Hey!" Cid yelled.

Vincent blinked and everything snapped back into place. He turned his head towards Cid, but found the other man wasn't even looking at him.

Cid threw his weight back, rocking his chair onto two legs. He draped his arm over the back of the chair while he leaned to peer around Vincent at the Agent. "Ain't ya want some fuckin' pizza?"

"...No, sir, thank you."

Cid's balance wobbled, precarious. Vincent reached out to grasp the side of the chair, holding it steady. Though he longed to force Cid to put it down on all fours again, he refrained. Cid shot him a brief grin, then resumed frowning over at the Agent.

"Our hospitality ain't good 'nuff?"

"No, sir, I--"

"Captain, let her be, she's on duty." Shera sighed. "I'm sure she'll have dinner later..."

"What the fuck ever." Cid patted at Vincent's wrist to get him to let go. Only then did he finally rock his chair forward, setting it back down on all fours. "Gonna get my ass shot, puttin' up with all these rude fuckers that ain't even care who I am. Thinkin' I'm just some fuckin' rabid monster... And _worse_ , thinkin' _Vince_ is."

"If they do anything of the sort--"

"--They will learn the meaning of regret," Vincent said.

With all eyes on him, Vincent took one last bite of his pizza, then delicately wiped the crumbs away with a napkin. He pushed his plate away to pull one of the cans of soda over. The flavor didn't particularly matter to him, it was all carbonated sugar anyway.

"You, um, maybe shouldn't... make those kinds of statements in front of..." Lucrecia ran her forefingers along the edges of her plate. She cast furtive glances towards the Agent. "...It might be taken as, as, some kind of threat."

Cid shrugged. "Eh, fuck 'em, if they wanna be cold."

Shera just sighed, shaking her head.

"Think I will take that walk," Vincent said.

"Lemme finish, starshine, and I'll join."

"Mhm." 

Vincent popped the tab on his soda and took a long drink. He sank back into his chair, metal gauntlet over his stomach. For the rest of the meal, he listened to the others meander from topic to topic and he watched the Agent watch them. His thoughts were full of prickly shadows, that old territorial cry of the beast that needed out.

_Come away from those thoughts,_ he told himself, a little wryly, when Cid pressed their legs together. He glanced over and lifted his soda can in a lazy salute. The gesture seemed enough to wipe away the line of worry marring Cid's forehead.

Soon, they would do away with the other sources of Cid’s stress.


	27. my shadow's over you

After dinner, Vincent bundled back up and headed out into the night with Cid. The WRO Agents followed them at a safe distance of six feet or so. Both agents carried flashlights, the circles of lights bobbing along the ground as they walked.

Though it was tempting to head towards their house, Vincent felt it could wait until morning because he knew Cid wouldn't be able to resist trying to fix any problems once he saw them. Vincent took the lead, heading out towards the east, away from the city and into the fields. Once they left the glow of street lights behind, he slowed down. Cid fell into step with him, pressing close so that their shoulders and arms occasionally bumped.

A little under a mile out, flat, rolling grassland gave away to hills. Cid fell back as they climbed one of the steeper hillsides; Vincent waited for him at the top.

"Where we goin', starshine?"

"You wanted to see the stars..."

"Ha, can see 'em fine here."

"Yes, but." Vincent looked to the Agents, still making their way uphill. He knew the glow of his eyes was easily visible, even without night vision.

"Got a better vantage point in mind?"

"Mhm."

They continued on, climbing higher into the hills. Gentle hillsides soon gave away to rocky cliffs and scattered boulders. Vincent wound his way between them, following zigzag paths ever upwards until he found the safest spot to climb. He waited until the WRO Agents caught up with them.

"We're going up. Don't follow."

"Sir, it's our job to," the male Agent said.

"It's dangerous," Cid said. "Just wait down here, we ain't goin' nowhere."

"If you keep resisting our attempts at surveillance, it'll--"

"It'll what? The hell y'all gonna do, arrest me again? All fuckin' right! What the hell's it matter?" Cid waved his arms back the way they'd come. "Town's out that way, numbskull. Not a threat to no one else, so mebbe quit fuckin' needlin' at me!"

The woman laid her hand on her partner's arm with a shake of her head. "Please cooperate with us, Captain Highwind, and don't go far. Status report in an hour, if you don't mind."

"No problem, lady."

With a cocky little salute, Cid turned towards the cliff face. He grinned over at Vincent right before crouching and leaping up to the next ledge, some twenty feet up. Vincent soared after him, cape flapping. Inexplicably, he thought of being called a leather flapper, and smiled into his mantle as he touched down next to Cid.

"Race ya, Valentine."

Almost before Cid finished saying his name, Vincent took off, hopping to the next foothold. Cid let out a whoop, giving chase. They bounded all the way up the cliff, reckless in their speed.

Somehow, Cid managed to beat Vincent to the top. He bounced on his toes, throwing his fist up. "Ha! I win, what's my prize?"

"Hmm."

Vincent drifted closer, meeting those icy blue eyes, marveling in the way they left streaks of light trails in their wake as Cid moved. He bent to rest their foreheads together. Cid reached up, scraping his fingers against the sides of Vincent's neck on the way to curling his arms around Vincent's shoulders. They kissed, slow and gentle, neither pushing for more.

"...Didn't bring my telescope," Cid whispered.

"A pity."

"Got a different instrument, if ya need somethin' to fiddle with."

Sighing, Vincent leaned away. "You're terrible, Highwind."

Cid laughed. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Of course not."

Cid planted a sloppy, wet kiss against Vincent's chin, smiling as he did it. Then he tugged at Vincent's hand, heading closer to the cliff's edge. He didn't go close enough to test whether it would crumble away beneath their weight. With a soft grunt, he flopped down to sit in the scratchy grass, legs stretched out before him. Vincent knelt next to him before gingerly settling against his side.

"Lookit that." Cid's voice was soft, awed.

He pointed upwards, sweeping his arm to indicate the whole sky. Vincent rested his cheek against Cid's shoulder, breathing in as his heart lurched with affection. Cid mostly smelled of smoke, garlic, sweat. Not a very charming combination, but it belonged to Vincent's favorite person, so he didn't mind.

Vincent looked up without lifting his head. A halo of clouds ringed the horizon, shining silver bright from the glow of the moon. The stars not hidden by the clouds formed a dazzling array of sparks in the dark. Below, Rocket Town's lights twinkled, mostly orange and green. Vincent picked out the red glow of the airstrips in the distance, his gaze following it out into the darkness and back up to the sky.

"JS-56 is real fuckin' bright tonight," Cid said.

"Which one is that, again?"

Cid pointed it out, a big orange speck to the northwest, in between two other, smaller stars. "Ya prolly know it as bein' part of Gaia's Belt."

"Is it a belt? My family always called it a collar."

"Collar for what?"

"Cerberus."

"Huh." Cid propped his head against the top of Vincent's, lacing their fingers together. "Yanno, I never asked, what's with that, ya got a keychain 'n everything..."

"My family's patron deity."

"They were traditionalists?"

"Mhm."

"Not that I wanna think 'bout anything happenin', but am I s'posed to be doin' anything for ya, returnin' ya to your god or whatever the shit y'all do?"

"...I have no final wishes, except that which we promised one another, before."

"Somewhere we can't see the sky?"

"Yes."

Cid fell quiet for a while, and then muttered, very soft, but with great feeling, " _Fuck_. Made myself sad, thinkin' 'bout it."

Though it was probably inappropriate, Vincent couldn't help but find it funny. He buried his face against Cid's shoulder, his own shaking with mirth. Grumbling, Cid elbowed him, but not enough to hurt or push him away.

"I won't die," Vincent promised, after a while.

Cid sighed, long and deep and world-weary. "I know." He pulled his hand away, then draped his arm around Vincent's shoulders. "Ya 'n me, starshine, for s'long as this shit goes on, til the last fuckin' star winks out."

"If it becomes too much..."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence. Vincent closed his eyes, content to do nothing except breathe, sinking under the weight of Cid's arm and affection.

Beside him, Cid wiggled a little. The crinkle of paper and plastic meant that he'd dug out his cigarettes. Vincent cracked his eye open a sliver, watching the flare of the small orange flame from Cid's lighter, the glow of the cherry at the end of the cigarette. Smoke wafted around them, a comforting burn. Exhaling, Vincent relaxed, eyes sliding shut again.

Several minutes passed. Cid smoked his cigarette and Vincent drowsed against him.

"Ya tired?"

"...No."

"Uh-huh. If ya wanna sleep, we could go back."

"No," Vincent repeated. "I like it here."

Cid huffed a small laugh as he stubbed his cigarette out in the dirt beside him. "Me too, but let's not fuckin' sleep out here. Bugs 'n who the hell knows what else."

"Didn't know bugs bothered you, Highwind."

"They're fine when they're not crawlin' all over me."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it ain't bother ya a bit, right? I remember that time we found a goddamn centipede in your hair."

"My constant companions while I slept."

"Fuckin' weird." Cid flapped the hand resting against Vincent's shoulder. "Ya were so damn careful with it, makin' sure to put it under the house... That was pretty cute."

"Not its fault that I displaced it from its home, after all..."

"Sure. Glad ya don't usually bring any creepy crawly surprises in for me."

"It is not my intention to stress either you or my stowaways out."

Cid grinned at him, eyes squinty. "Thanks, Vince. 'Ppreciate ya lookin' after me."

Vincent reached, splaying the tips of his claws against the wrinkles framing Cid's eye. Under those deadly points, Cid stilled, face going slack. He watched Vincent with wary interest; not fear, but caution born of not knowing what came next.

"Eternity, Cid Highwind, all that I am, all that I will ever be is yours." Vincent leaned close, their breath mingling. "Even if one or both of us should die."

"...Aw, hell, starshine."

When Vincent kissed him, Cid smiled into it. Despite his worries about bugs, he resisted not at all when Vincent nudged at him, urging him to lie back there under the stars. The red cloak draped over them, a warm weight that trapped their body heat between.

Cid fisted one hand into the fabric of Vincent's shirt at his back, and ran the other up along the side of Vincent's face and into his hair. He groaned into the kisses, opening his mouth to invite more. Vincent pressed in, taking everything he was given. He braced his metal arm on the ground beside Cid's head, caging him in. His flesh hand wandered, settling against Cid's sternum, fingers twitching to the thud of the heartbeat beneath them.

Under the stars Cid adored so, Vincent tried in vain to convey the emotion spilling from his trembling heart. He kissed Cid until they were both breathless, panting harshly against another. His claws tore gouges into the ground, catching on the tangled weave of grassy roots. He felt caught, and couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

Blue eyes gone cloudy and wet watched him. "Vin..." Cid rolled his hips, making his need known. "Ya wanna--?"

"I'm not... Sorry."

"Yeah." Nodding, Cid cupped his hand against the side of Vincent's face. He smiled, gentle and a little sad. "S'okay. I can wait."

Vincent set his weight on his knees at either side of Cid's legs, alleviating some of the pressure he put on the man. He scooted up to press a kiss against Cid's temple, mouthing those three little words he still couldn't bring himself to voice. Then he rolled off, laying flat out on his back beside Cid.

Cid chuckled quietly. "Ya too, starshine."

"Do you... want to go back?"

"When my dick don't feel like it'll explode."

"Charming." Vincent threw his arm over his face, as if he could forcibly do away with the heat in his cheeks. He swallowed, sucked down cold air that made his head spin. "I... I could read to you."

"...Thought ya didn't wanna do anything at Shera's."

" _I_ won't be doing anything."

"Oh. Ha. I'd like that, if ya don't mind."

"Mhm."

Cid rolled onto his side, away from Vincent, gingerly arranging his legs. He tugged at his jeans with a grunt. "'Kay, gimme a min to think unsexy thoughts."

"You could think about the centipedes," Vincent suggested.

"Ugh, fuck, all their wiggly lil legs."

"It's extremely painful to be bitten by one."

"Like, what, spider bite?"

"Something like that... They have a paralytic venom."

"Sure s'fuck explains the bigguns knockin' our asses flat 'til someone busts out the heals."

"Mhm."

"Good fuckin' thing that wasn't no baby ya carted from the mansion."

"Or that it hadn't been mutated..."

"Oh maaan, can ya fuckin' imagine?" Cid flopped onto his back, arms flailing above him. "We coulda got back to Rocket Town to find the damn rocket wouldn't go 'cuz some big ass creepy crawlies livin' in it. Shera'd've never fuckin' forgiven us."

"Another sin to atone for."

Hooting with laughter, Cid rolled over to throw his arm over Vincent's middle. He buried his face against Vincent's arm as he laughed. With the slightest of smiles, hidden in his mantle, and eyes gone squinty and soft, Vincent touched the backs of his claws against Cid's shoulder.

"I love ya so fuckin' much, Vince."

"Enough to look the other way if I adopt another centipede?"

"Hell no!"

"Hmm, a pity."

"Don't people keep other, less creepy bugs?" Cid asked.

"Define 'less creepy'."

"Uhh.. Fuck, Iunno, what do people keep?"

Once, a long time ago, he'd been enamored with the idea of keeping odd pets. Anything but more dogs. He remembered checking out books on the subject and ultimately becoming quite absorbed in entomology. His fellow Turks thought him stranger than ever when his idea of small talk was to blurt an interesting factoid and hope that he was left alone.

The tactic hadn't worked on Lucrecia. Just the opposite, in fact.

"Spiders."

"Nah-uh."

"Cockroaches."

"No fuckin' way, what if the damn things get out? Whole house'd be infested 'n then we'd have to fumigate."

"Not those kinds of cockroaches, Highwind," Vincent sighed.

"Don't care, not happenin'."

"Scorpions."

"Don't bring any deadly creatures into the goddamn house, Valentine."

"I look the other way for She Devil..."

"A fair fuckin' point, 'n I'm grateful, but she ain't poisonous."

"Venomous, actually."

"What the fuck ever." Cid huffed, flicking his fingers against one of the buckles of Vincent's cape. "It's the same damn result."

"If you say so."

"Damn right I do. What else?"

"I have no interest in ants or caterpillars, though moths are pleasing to the eye." Vincent tapped his claws against the cape buckle, stilling Cid's fidgeting. "Beetles, perhaps."

"Ain't talkin' corpse-eatin' nasties, are ya?"

"There are many other kinds..."

"Mmm... Maybe."

Vincent looked down at Cid, idly brushing his fingers through short blond hair. "You realize, of course, that they spend nine months of their life as grubs."

"Do they crawl 'round 'n bite?"

"Mostly they remain buried under leaf litter."

"Sounds fine with me."

"...Would you really have no objection?"

"If it makes ya happy, I'm good."

Struck again by how much he loved this blue-eyed fool of a man, Vincent said nothing else. He curled into Cid, nosing at his forehead. Breathing in his scent, as if Vincent could breathe in everything good about him, absorb it and become a little more worthy.

Cid's arm tightened around his middle, a quick squeeze. "I'm ready to go back, if ya are, starshine."

"Yes."

Nimble as ever, Cid pushed himself up to his feet in one quick move. He held his hand out for Vincent to take, then hauled him up. Some loose grass clung to Cid’s clothes, and a particularly large dead leaf stuck out of his hair. Vincent plucked the latter between his claws, crinkling it. He was certain he looked as much a mess.

"Damn," Cid muttered, and began to pat himself down. "We'll never get all this shit off..."

"I could."

Pausing, Cid eyed him. "...How, 'zactly?"

Vincent offered his hand, palm up and fingers loosely curled. Cid looked at it, then at Vincent's face, then shrugged and clapped his palm against Vincent's. The minute they touched, Vincent pulled them through the flows of the lifestream, guiding their swirling particles over the edge of the cliff. They left the unwanted plant matter behind.

Like water, they poured downwards, bouncing off of rocks and ledges until they touched down on the ground below, becoming solid right between the two Agents. Cid swore, the Agents yelped and scrambled away, fumbling for their guns, and Vincent brushed his hand down his front to ensure he hadn't forgotten any part of himself.

"Fuckin' warn a guy!" Cid barked, slapping his hand against Vincent's shoulder. "Gonna get us shot, goddamn!!"

"Apologies." Vincent leveled a cold stare at first one, then the other Agent.

They thought better of drawing their guns. The man stalked away, presenting his back to them as he tried to get himself together. The woman slouched over her knees, gasping for breath as though she'd run a marathon.

"Damn, y'all sure are jumpy." Cid pulled a cigarette out, lighting up. He exhaled smoke towards the woman. "Ya needa minute to change your damn drawers, or can we go back?"

She lifted her head, glaring from behind her hair with a single baleful eye. "That... is not a polite prank to play, Mr. Valentine."

"No,” Vincent said.

"I'd appreciate--" She straightened up, fidgeting with her tie. "--if you didn't do that again."

Vincent said nothing. Cid grinned around his cigarette at him.

Then Cid turned towards the Agent. "What's your name, anyhow?"

"Emily."

"Well, Emily, we _all_ gotta deal with this guy's antics." Cid jerked his thumb towards Vincent. "Try not to fuckin' shoot your damn foot off or somethin' if he spooks ya."

"It goes against protocol to shoot surveillance subjects."

"Yeah, ain't stopped y'all from jumpin' for your guns."

"Sorry."

With a snort, Cid flopped his hand, effectively dismissing the apology and the subject. He glanced towards the male Agent, still standing stiff-backed off to the side, then turned to begin the trek back into town. Vincent fell into step with him, keeping a safe distance until they were back out in the hills, where there was less risk of someone stumbling over rocks. The Agents followed at a much safer distance, closer to ten feet than the six they'd started at.

"Hey, Vince, what ya gonna read tonight?"

"I don't know."

"Think I'd hafta start from the beginnin' of the series to get the one ya were readin' earlier, right?"

"Probably."

"Uhh... Guess we could see if the ladies got anything worthwhile." Cid scratched at the side of his neck, head tipped back to consider the stars as if they had answers for him. "Shera mostly got nonfiction... Shit, not _that_."

"As interesting as rocket science is, I'm sure you need no help fantasizing about it."

"Ha fuckin' ha. More like ruinin' drillin' for me."

"Is that not a favorite pastime?"

Laughing, Cid shook his head. "I'd be down for some late night drillin', but I didn't bring any equipment, and I didn't prep the site."

Vincent slowed down, tucking his heated face into his mantle. As always, Cid found inventive ways to be crass, and as always, it caught Vincent by surprise even when he actively egged the man on. Cid noticed him falling behind and paused to let him catch up, looking back with a concerned frown.

"...I don't think you need any assistance 'ruining' drilling."

"Yeah, no, just leave me to my own devices and I'll toss my own ass into the gutter." Cid nudged his shoulder against Vincent's. "Tell me to shut the hell up if I'm goin' too far."

"It's fine."

"Alright. Uhh, I bet they don't keep the filth out on the polite company shelves."

"I'm not going to ask them, if you aren't."

"They'd never let us hear the fuckin' end of it!"

As they left the grassy hills behind and stepped out onto the road in front of Shera's house, Vincent bumped the back of his hand against Cid’s. "Might be doomed to endure some trite, heartwarming romance novella, Chief."

"S'okay," Cid said. He tucked his hand into Vincent’s and squeezed, grinning up at him. "Long as you're sufferin' with me."


	28. opposite of amnesia

Most of the lights were off in the house when Vincent and Cid entered. A small lamp on a side table next to the couch gave Shera enough light to read by. Lucrecia dozed with her head on Shera's thigh. The television showed some colorful game show, the volume turned way down.

Shera's glasses glinted in the light when she looked up. She waved without speaking, then went back to her book. As Cid kicked his boots off by the front door, Lucrecia made a sleepy, inquiring noise, soon soothed away by Shera murmuring softly to her.

Cid wandered over and leaned over the back of the couch to whisper, "Sorry."

"Hm-muh, it's fine, Captain." Shera shook her head, smiling. She ran her hand through Lucrecia's bangs, fingertips tracing gentle trails down the side of her cheeks. “Where are your guards?”

"Shift change, ‘n they’re stayin’ outside. Ya mind if we borrow somethin' for Vince to read?"

"Go ahead."

Frozen by the idyllic scene, Vincent blinked owlishly from the gloom when Cid straightened and turned towards him, gesturing impatiently for him to follow. He was reluctant to step out of his boots and into the golden lamp light. His presence would taint it, somehow, he was sure.

Yet, when he went to join Cid by the bookshelves, nothing changed. The light stayed soft and yellow, Shera continued to read, Lucrecia watched them sleepily, and the television flickered with harmless, colorful imagery.

Vincent exhaled.

"Somethin' the matter?"

"No."

Cid nodded, accepting it. He crouched down to browse through the lower shelves. Presumably, he knew where Shera and Lucrecia's collection of nonfiction ended and where the fiction began, both from years of living with Shera and from constantly borrowing from them. Vincent stood to the side, running his eyes along the spines without really registering what they said.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Shera asked.

"Uhh... Not, not really. Vince?"

Vincent shook his head, just slightly. "You know my tastes."

"Oh." Lucrecia yawned, stretching her legs out and wiggling her feet to pop the joints. "Um... there were the books I meant to have you read, Vincent... Silver covers, blue font."

Cid found two slim hardcover books wedged on top of the others on the bottom shelf. "Got 'em, I think?" He held them up to Vincent for inspection.

Careful not to damage them, Vincent took them with one hand and propped them against his metal arm. The blue font glittered in the light: _Bleak Hearts_ and _Bleak Hearts: Curtain Call_. The first book had an illustration of a woman in a light blue gown in a garden of roses on its cover. The second showed some sort of Ifrit-like creature glowering from between the curtains.

"That's them," Lucrecia said. "Re-imagined fairy tales... There's a few, um, that I thought matched your usual tastes. A little gloomy, some horror... Um, the... the second one is, er..."

Shera snorted. "It's smut."

Vincent opened the second book out of morbid curiosity, flipping to a random page. Straight away, he spotted the usual expected purple prose describing lewd acts. Cid leaned into Vincent's space, huffing a quiet laugh.

"Sure's fuck is. Purple prose as shit, but that's a goddamn--"

"This will do," Vincent said, closing the book. "Thank you."

"Sure, um. It's no trouble." Lucrecia had her hand over the lower half of her face, fingers curved over the bridge of her nose, as if she could hide her embarrassment. "I didn't realize, you know, when I got the set..."

Leaving Shera to comfort Lucrecia, Vincent headed for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Cid say, "Night, ladies."

Once he reached the guest bedroom, Vincent set the books on the bed and turned towards the door to watch Cid's entrance. Cid's grin was a little lopsided, fraught with nervous anticipation. He stepped into the room and swung the door shut behind him, then leaned back against it, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans.

"Ya sure 'bout this, starshine? I could just go have a shower."

"Whatever you need, Cid."

"Let's see how it goes." Cid pushed away from the door, coming over to stand in front of Vincent. "Shit might be too damn stupid to take serious."

"The raging beast of his desire," Vincent quoted, bland.

Cid laughed, digging his fist against the side of his mouth as if he could repress his amusement. " _Fuck_ , that's dumb as shit."

"I'm certain Lucrecia wouldn't want me to read something lacking in quality..."

"Yeah, sure, but ya saw her down there." Cid shrugged a shoulder. "Surprised she let us see what kinda filth she's into."

"She's always refused to break up set items, for any reason."

"Hell of a specific hangup."

"So says the man who has to collect every edition of _Astounding Stories_ , even if it's only a color variation..."

"That's different!"

"Sure, Chief."

Vincent retreated around the side of the bed. He swept his cape off and tossed it towards the dresser. It hit the top, then slid to the floor with a soft whump, but he couldn't bring himself to care right then. To Cid's low, half-hearted grumbling, Vincent removed his gun holster and laid the weapon between the pillows. He also finally remembered to turn the bedside lamp on.

Cid blinked owlishly at the sudden light. "...Oh. Yeah. I keep forgettin'. S'like the dark don't exist anymore."

"Does it trouble you still?"

"Nah-uh. Pretty useful, when I drop shit under whatever I'm workin' on."

Nodding, Vincent climbed into the bed to stretch out on his side. He pillowed his head against his arm, watching Cid with his eyes half closed.

Cid snagged the books and went around to the other side of the bed. He tossed the books towards the middle of the bed, where they bounced against the gun holster. Jeans, socks, and shirt ended up in a pile on the floor; Cid made no great show of stripping down for sleep. He climbed onto the bed, laying so that he faced Vincent, and reached out to lay his hand against Vincent's hip.

Gently, Vincent settled his metal hand over Cid's, claws splayed so the sharp edges wouldn't catch on skin.

Smiling, Cid flicked a finger against the book-shaped obstacles between them. "Ya wanna cuddle?"

"I suppose."

"Sound a lil more put out, why don'tcha."

With some rearranging of pillows, books, and gun, Cid settled with his back nestled against Vincent's front. Vincent stretched his left arm out so that the portion still made of flesh rested against Cid's side and the metal barely grazed his belly as he breathed.

"Which do you want to start with?" Vincent asked.

"Hell, I bet you're s'posed to read the first one, get all attached to the characters." Cid snagged the book and passed it over.

"Likely."

Vincent left the book laying on the bed in front of them, flipping it open with his talons. Ever mindful not to tear the pages, he held the front cover and pages up so that he could see the table of contents. Cid, perhaps realizing how awkward it was to try and read over his shoulder, wiggled downwards until Vincent could see over the top of his head. He dragged a corner of his pillow with. The new arrangement forced Vincent to shift a little to get comfortable again.

"Are you done, Highwind?"

"So fuckin' touchy, Valentine." Cid blew a raspberry and wiggled his butt. "Don't act like ya don't like this."

"Hm. What story do you want."

"Uhhh..." Running his finger along the table of contents, Cid murmured quietly as he read the offerings. "Hell, I don't know, go for... _The Riddle of the Heart_ , that sounds cheesy enough."

"Disgustingly so," Vincent said.

He flipped through the book until he found the beginning of the story. One page showed a black and white rendition of a woman with a torch in her hand at the bottom of some stairs, the top of which seemed to be occupied by a cat-like creature with a human face and chest.

"How very fuckin' predictable, a goddamn sphynx."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Nah-uh, go on."

"Once upon a time is a cliche way to start a story," Vincent began, "But a fairy tale just wouldn't be the same without it..."

_The story told of a woman named Dakota who traveled the world, visiting ancient ruins in search of treasure. Unlike their favorite treasure hunter from Wutai, the fictional character wasn't interested in profit. She wanted to put the things she found in museums so that anyone could learn from them._

"How very goddamn noble," Cid grumbled. "Prolly just ends up in some rich fuck's collection anyway."

"Probably."

Vincent read on.

_The protagonist had many hair-raising adventures, navigating booby trapped temples, negotiating with locals, and doing battle against an assortment of monsters, spirits, and lesser gods. Sometimes she had brief romances with men, women, and everything in between, never lingered on long. Cid's lack of interjections and the fact that he didn't doze spoke of how much he began to enjoy the character despite himself. She was the kind of over-the-top heroine that could be found in one of his 5-gil pulp magazines._

_Eventually, Dakota heard a rumor of a fantastic treasure guarded by a creature unlike any other. It was said to have the intelligence of a man but the body of a monster. No one knew what the treasure was, but the rumors all suggested that it would be given to the person who could answer the monster's questions satisfactorily._

_And so, she sought out the underground passages beneath the frozen northern mountains, where the creature was said to live. A terrible thing, half tiger and half human, neither male nor female. Its eyes were clouded over and it lay prone atop a crumbling staircase as she approached._

_"With a heavy sigh, the creature spoke: 'Why have you come here?'"_

"Ya s'pose she ends up bonin' this fuckin' thing?" Cid asked. "I mean, it don't seem like it needs sex so much as a hot meal 'n a brushin'."

"Is that how you thought of me?"

"Lil bit, yeah."

"I'll remember that. A brushing..."

"...Lotta stiff drinks, nappin', and rememberin' how to smile, s'what I remember ya needin'."

"I'm not sure I remember."

Cid looked over his shoulder and upwards, grinning toothily. "Ya doin' it right now, ya bastard. That squinty look, like a goddamn cat."

"I'm not a cat." Vincent looked away, at the book. He thought of Reeve, walking away on stiff legs, his hair practically standing on end. No, he was nothing like Reeve.

"Big ol' kitty cat, yep. Got claws bigger'n my hand."

To demonstrate, Cid laid his hand over the backs of Vincent's talons. As they extended out several inches past the fingers, they were indeed larger than an ordinary man's hand. Vincent twitched them, which made Cid curl his fingers in between the joints, where there weren't any sharp edges but he could still get pinched by the metal if Vincent wasn't careful.

"What does that make you?"

"Apparently, I'm some kinda gator. Don't make no fuckin' sense, always figured I'd be a dragon, if I had to be a damn reptile..."

"Maybe you are."

"Where's my goddamn wings, then?"

"Not all dragons fly."

"Man, fuck that." Cid scoffed. "If I gotta be a lizard, I'm gonna fly. Invent a plane that I can operate with claws or some shit."

Vincent tipped his face down, burying his nose against the top of Cid's head. The mental image of a monster piloting a plane had a certain something. It was simultaneously amusing and somehow believable, knowing that it was Cid.

"That... would be a sight to behold."

"Damn right."

"Should I continue?"

"Yep, I wanna know what this cat's deal is."

"Hmm... 'I came to discover the secret of this place,' the woman said..."

_The creature posed three riddles. For each, Dakota had three days and three nights to come up with the answers. She could not leave, or else she'd have to start over again with new riddles._

_"I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will, and yet I am the confidence of all to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball."_

_"Tomorrow," Dakota said, after two days of pacing._

_"Correct." The beast was silent for a very long time, and then offered a new riddle. "This thing all things devours; birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountains down."_

_Two more days, she struggled to think her way through the riddle. Finally, she had the answer. "Time."_

_"Two words, my answer is only two words. To keep me, you must give me," the creature said, its voice full of tentative hope._

_"...Your word? My word."_

"Wait, is this fuckin' thing proposin'?" Cid asked, drumming the backs of his nails against the bottom of the book. "Kinda sudden, innit?"

"It's a fairy tale, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thought these were s'posed to be retold to make 'em better."

"Do you want me to finish?"

"'Course! Gotta know how this stupid thing ends."

"The creature lead Dakota up the stairs, into the ruins. There, she saw no treasures, but a wealth of stories engraved on the walls," Vincent read, after finding his place again. "At the center of it all, the creature sat, watching her. Waiting."

_Dakota realized that she had one more riddle to solve. An unspoken one, in the form of trying to figure out what the creature wanted from her. She pored over the stories on the walls and learned that the creature was trapped in the ruins. The only way it could leave was if someone worthy invited it to do so._

_"Will you tell me your name?" Dakota asked._

_"I have none."_

_"Can I give you one?"_

_The creature sat up, tense and expectant. "I want nothing more."_

_"If I name you... then that's an invite, isn't it? To come home with me, to stop being alone."_

_"Yes."_

_"Then I name you Kleon."_

_The bangles on the creature's limbs shimmered and shattered, freeing it from its imprisonment. The newly named Kleon approached Dakota carefully._

_"Wherever you will go, from now until the last grain of sand falls, I, Kleon, will follow."_

_"I don't know how I'm going to explain this one to the guys back home," Dakota joked._

_She took the creature away from the ruins and brought it home. Her house needed to be modified to accommodate it, and her coworkers needed time to get used to its presence, but--_

"They lived happily ever after, going on many adventures together," Vincent finished.

"That's it?" Cid squirmed, twisting so he could squint up at Vincent.

"Mhm."

"Maaan. I wanna hear 'bout the badass babe and her feline sidekick goin' on adventures."

"You'll have to take it up with the author..."

"Who wrote it?"

Vincent flipped back through the pages until he found the title again. "Someone named Cass Lee."

"What a fuckin' name. Guess I gotta look 'em up later." Cid yawned, muffling the noise with his fist. "Thanks for readin' to me..."

"I take it you're ready for sleep?"

"Maybe. Ya think they got more 'bout Dakota in that other book?"

Nudging the first book out of the way, Vincent dragged the second, more sordid one over to begin leafing through it. The table of contents helpfully listed the stories by rating, with the more lewd stories at the back. Cass Lee's name came up somewhere in near the end. He flipped to the story, skimming the first few paragraphs to ascertain that it did indeed revolve around Dakota.

"Seems so."

"Ya up for sloggin' through some real shitty prose, Vince?"

"I'm sure I've read worse..."

"What'n the hell ya been readin' that's worse than, what the fuck was it--?"

"The raging beast of his desire," Vincent said. He smiled against the top of Cid's head at the disgusted noise Cid made.

"Yeah, _that_." Cid paused. "So what's worse than that?"

"I'd rather not say."

"C'mooon, ya can't just fuckin' lead me on like this." Reaching up, Cid pushed his fingers through Vincent's hair. "Ya got somethin' good, ya gotta share it, them's the rules."

Sighing, Vincent closed his eyes. With great reluctance, he made himself say, "Throbbing purple spear of destiny."

Cid's breath hitched. Dead silence fell between them. Vincent cracked one eye open, half expecting to find that he was alone, or that he'd somehow managed to kill Cid with mere words. What he saw instead was Cid's face sliding from shock to confusion to hilarity, in slow motion.

He _howled_ laughter, loud enough to make Vincent jump, and very likely loud enough to wake the dead in the next town over. Cid curled inwards, clutching at his belly as he laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Oh my _fuck_!" Cid wheezed. "That's-- fuck, that's so... fuckin'--"

It came as no surprise at all when a soft knock and Shera's worried voice called from the hallway a few moments later. "Are you two okay?"

"We're fine," Vincent said, raising his voice to be heard. He curled his hand over Cid's mouth, trying and failing to muffle the laughter. "Cid's inappropriate humor strikes again."

"Okay..."

After Shera had gone again, Cid whispered loudly, "Ya wanna... ya wanna see _my_ spear?"

"I want to end you, very badly, Highwind."

Cid snickered, squirming around until they were face to face. He grinned as he threw his arm over Vincent's waist and nuzzled close. "Ya make my days so much fuckin' better, yanno that?"


	29. nsfw - and sleep free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw warnings -- handjob/assisted masturbation, discussions of boning each other’s monster forms, reading teratophilia smut (agender sphynx + lady) that involves foreplay, cunnilingus, and nonspecific lovemaking.

Once he'd gotten his snickering under control, Cid drummed his fingers against Vincent's lower back. "Ya gonna read it?"

"The filth?"

"Yeah."

"If you still want me to."

"Please," Cid said, between light kisses along Vincent's jaw and neck. "I wanna hear ya say more nasty prose more'n anything."

"Alright."

Vincent sighed, angling his head to give Cid better access. His eyelids fluttered shut at the lazy warmth that followed the heat of Cid's mouth. Teeth and tongue settled against his pulse, stinging. He trailed his talons through Cid's hair, down the back of his neck, featherlight. Then he crab walked them away, out over the sheets to grab the book.

Cid let up on marking Vincent's neck at the flutter of pages. His breath against damp skin sent pleasant sparks down Vincent's spine.

"For three years, Dakota and Kleon went on many adventures together," Vincent read. "They became the closest of friends..."

"Man, I know I already said, but how fuckin' radical would a whole series of their adventures be."

"Mhm."

_Lately, Dakota noticed that the feline creature watched her with a certain intensity. She often wondered whether they felt lonely, being the only one of their kind. They leaned into her touch whenever she touched the fur along their back and legs, and seemed reluctant to move away when she stopped._

"Oh, hell, they're gonna do it." Cid chuckled against Vincent's collarbone. "This fuckin' story better tell us what the bits look like."

_Kleon eventually approached Dakota, nervously. They thought she would reject their advances outright when they asked if the two of them could ever be more. Though stunned, she did no such thing. She had more doubts about how they would proceed than anything._

"'I could demonstrate,' Kleon said."

Cid chortled. "I _bet_ they could."

_Dakota thought it over, her heart hammering and a familiar warmth building in her gut. "I think I'd like that." She smiled, as nervous as Kleon looked, and followed them to their room._

_They lay together on the bed, as they had done so many times before. It felt different though, knowing that they weren't merely going to cuddle and sleep._

_Soon, Kleon nuzzled against the side of Dakota's face. They breathed in deeply, purring. Shivery with anticipation, she reached up to tuck their hair out of their face, brushing her fingers against their ear. They leaned into the touch, and she pressed a tentative kiss against their mouth. With fangs and a rough tongue, kissing proved to be an interesting adventure, but one that Dakota found agreeable._

"Man, Iunno, I never really thought 'bout doin' it with a monster. 'Cept like... the ones that're more human. I'd fuck Shiva, even if my dick fell off."

Vincent could not repress a snort of amusement. "Charming, Highwind."

"C'mon, don't be like that, she's fuckin' hot!"

"If you say so."

"I sure as fuck did!!"

"Do you want me to stop reading this?"

"No, I'm curious how far it's gonna go. Does it count as bestiality, fuckin' somethin' that's got tiger parts?"

"I don't know... It's sentient and has a humanoid face."

"Would it be if ya and I--?"

"Cid."

"What?"

"I don't know. I haven't... thought about that."

"But ya liked mine, right?"

Sleek silver scales could not stand between him and the man he loved. Vincent bent to nose at the top of Cid's head. "It's you, whatever your shape."

"So if it was me, totally me, then wouldja?"

"Would you for Galian?"

"Fuck, Iunno, your dick's prolly changed too, right?" Cid drummed his fingers against Vincent's back, thoughtful. "Okay, I'd think 'bout it pretty serious-like. Once I saw. And I knew ya weren't gonna fuckin' flip out on me. Think I'll still prefer ya as yourself, anyway."

"I think I would too..."

"Cool. On with the monster fuckin'."

_One of Kleon's paws was big enough to cover half of Dakota's chest, and they didn't have the dexterity necessary to undress her. She undressed herself, and then felt self-conscious and nervous all over again, burning up under Kleon's gaze._

_"Beautiful," Kleon said, nuzzling against her bare thigh. "May I touch you?"_

_"Yes, please."_

_The creature ran their paw along her body, mapping out the contours. The pads were a rough, interesting texture, and occasionally Kleon flexed the claws out just enough to scrape them lightly. Dakota gasped and melted under their touch, reaching to draw them in for more kisses._

"Soon, Kleon settled between her legs, licking ever upwards, towards her dripping sex. The first swipe of tongue down there came softly, there and gone, yet still she gasped, aching for more."

"Ah, shit, this is kinda hot."

Cid rolled his hips, grinding against Vincent's thigh. Groaning quietly, he stared up at Vincent, hanging off every word. A thin ring of blazing blue ringed his too large pupils, and Vincent felt like he might fall right into those dark depths. His reading faltered.

"C'mon... please don't stop."

"I won't."

Even if the heat in his gut was little more than a flicker, too weak to catch, nothing pleased Vincent more than to take care of Cid's needs. He refocused on the words on the page with some difficulty, struggling to find where he'd left off.

Vincent swallowed, then read on, "The rough tongue curled, twisting against her clit..."

"Fuck yeah."

Cid squirmed, leaning away long enough to pull his boxers down. He hummed as he palmed his cock, lingering little strokes with little pressure. Then he nudged against Vincent's thigh again, smearing precum on his pants.

"I don't have a change of clothes, Cid..."

"Sorry, uh." Cid stilled and started to pull away.

Vincent lowered the book, cradling it in his metal hand so that he could reach with his real one to touch Cid's hip. "We should... rearrange ourselves, I think."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Setting the book aside entirely, Vincent scooted up until he was sitting. He propped pillows up against the headboard and leaned back, shifting around until he was comfortable. Spreading his legs, he held out his good hand towards Cid, who took it eagerly and allowed himself to be arranged with his back against Vincent's front.

"What now, star _shine_." Cid's voice hitched as Vincent slid his hand down to cup his erection. "How... uh, ya gonna finish reading?"

"I can hold a book in my claws..."

"Hah... A dick in one hand, book in the other, Valentine? That some kinda paradise for ya?"

"If it's you, I wouldn't say no."

Cid lay his head back against Vincent's shoulder, turning his face so that he could nuzzle along Vincent's jaw. "...I'm honored, but fuck, please, don't tease me."

"As you wish."

Vincent applied some pressure to the base of Cid's cock as he picked the book up with his claws. He tucked his tongue against the back of his teeth as he sought out their place once more. As he read, he began to stroke Cid, slow and teasing.

"Dakota moaned, legs shaking, as the tingling pleasure built and built. Her hands twisted in the creature's mane, and she fought the urge to simultaneously pull and push away. It was too much--"

Panting, Cid fisted his own hands on the bedding and Vincent's pants. His hips bucked, and he uttered a quiet litany of, "fuck"s, "please"s, and "yeah"s. Vincent kept a constant, torturously slow pace, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. Even without prostate stimulation, Cid always leaked a profuse amount of precum. Vincent rubbed his palm over the head, then smeared it down the shaft.

"Kleon sat back, looking at their handiwork. She lay trembling and gasping in the aftermath of her orgasm."

"Fuck, Vince, let me--"

"Not yet. She's not done."

" _Shit_ , what's..."

"The creature crawled over her, their own need hanging heavy between their legs."

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Cid muttered, then shoved his fist against his mouth to muffle his moans as Vincent started jerking him off a little faster.

The book lovingly described the creature's genitalia, and how it felt as Kleon and Dakota continued to make love. Cid groaned, apparently finding it to be too much, dropping his hand over Vincent's to urge him on.

"Fuck, I'm--"

With a shudder, Cid came a few strokes later. Vincent tucked his face against the side of Cid's sweaty temple, continuing to stroke until his hand was pushed away. He dropped the book and Dakota's fictional happy end aside. Cid slouched down, panting and droopy-eyed.

"Feel better, Chief?"

"You're too damn good to me.”

“I should be the one saying that, I think.”

“Heheh…” Cid fumbled for the tissues from the bedside table, casting a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Ya ended up doin’ somethin’ with the exes just ‘cross the hall.”

“...So I did.” Vincent glanced towards the door, half expecting one of the women to kick the door down to shame them both. A prickle of guilt chilled him. Lucrecia might have heard everything--

The clack of the cardboard box bumping against his claws stopped his downward spiral in its tracks. Vincent blinked, accepting the tissues, and wiped his hand off.

“Thanks, starshine.” Cid pecked Vincent on the lips, then flopped over on his side of the bed. He was snoring within minutes, not even bothering with the blankets.

“Always,” Vincent whispered.


	30. a cherry blossom

In the morning, Cid and Vincent headed over to their house with two new WRO shadows. The front gate had been repaired, and beyond it, the WRO pitched tents in the yard. Cid grumbled as they passed through the makeshift campsite, begrudgingly lifting his hand in greeting to the few Agents that knew him and were apparently unfazed by recent developments.

The She Devil strutted about her pen, occasionally fluffing up in great offense whenever someone came too close. Cid gave Vincent a searching look. Vincent inclined his head towards the chocobo, then watched as Cid trotted over to hop the fence. Keeping his distance, Vincent waited with his arms folded, claw and hand tucked into his arm pit. The chocobo regarded Cid warily but made no attempts to attack. The minute Cid touched her, she all but melted into it. She probably hadn't received much in the way of petting in his absence.

"Vincent."

Turning only his head, Vincent was only marginally surprised to see the familiar dark blue of a Turk suit. "Elena."

"I'm sorry about the verdict." She came to stand beside him, hands folded behind her back. At rest, but still on duty. "But I'm glad you're both safe."

"What are you doing here?"

"Once a Turk, always a Turk. Given the sensitive nature of some of the items in your possession, we felt it better to look out for your property in your absence ourselves."

"Who else is here?"

"Tseng." Elena smiled, knowing. "President ShinRa found work better suited to Reno and Rude's specific brand of..."

"Chaos," Vincent muttered.

"Yes."

Though having Tseng prowling around his house made him wary, it was for different reasons than the very real potential of finding nothing but the foundations still standing. At least Tseng's curiosity usually followed his rigid ideas of honor. Failing that, the man preferred to keep his nose out of potentially troublesome things. Between Cid and himself, Vincent couldn't guess who was considered a more troublesome target.

"Anything to report?" he asked.

"With this many of the WRO's people milling about, further incursions are unlikely. The trail's gone cold." Elena shook her head, then tossed it to get her hair out of her eyes. "It would have been better to put things back in order and resume normal day to day activities, lull the enemy into trying again..."

Vincent looked over at Cid. He agreed with Elena's assessment for more than one reason, the foremost being that it would have meant Cid wouldn't have been thrown into a cell to rot, wouldn't have had his reputation tarnished, and wouldn't be facing a year of exile.

"We installed new doors for your basement." Elena held out a keyring with four unmarked keys. "No breach at the bottom level."

Vincent accepted the keys and stowed them in his pocket. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble." She fell silent for several minutes, her eyes tracking Cid as he walked the She Devil around her pen, chattering the whole time. "It might be a good idea to think about transferring your valuables to some other location."

"Yes."

"Let us know if you need assistance, okay?"

Vincent tucked his chin, glancing over at her. Elena smiled, her gaze still on Cid. She knew him well enough not to always expect verbal responses. That he did not refuse outright was enough.

Cid, apparently satisfied that the She Devil was fine, climbed back over the fence. She followed up to the fence, all fluffed up and crooning, but made no aggressive moves. Vincent frowned, suspicious that her docile behavior might be a sign of trouble to come.

"Never thought to ask, issit gonna be okay if I bring her, wherever the hell we're goin'?" Cid came over to stand near Vincent, tapping a cigarette out from a half-empty pack. He put it between his lips, but didn't dig his lighter out yet.

"Whatever you like, Chief."

"Thanks." Nodding at Elena, Cid looked towards the house. "Y'all better not've been up to no sneaky Turk shit."

"No, sir," Elena said. "Everything met Vincent's approval, thus far."

"Yeah, fuckin' better have."

Cid stomped off to the house. As he went, he pulled his lighter out, flicking the cap open and closed. Still, he did not light up. Vincent exchanged a look with Elena. She tilted her head in the direction Cid had gone, then politely turned her gaze elsewhere. Trusting that Elena had nothing else to report, Vincent followed Cid inside.

Ever since entering the property, the WRO Agents tailing them seemed to have lost interest. Perhaps they thought sheer numbers of their own was good enough. Vincent thought them lax. He wondered if Reeve said something to them, or perhaps hired people who wouldn't take the job terribly seriously once they were outside of Junon. After all, the only danger Cid posed was the same Vincent always had--a lack of control. Vincent got lucky, somehow managing not to harm high profile targets.

The house looked much the same since Vincent left it and reality behind to rest in the lifestream. Someone tarped up the broken windows with clear plastic and heavy duty silver tape. The floors and stairs remained torn up and blood-stained, beyond salvaging. A shiny new metal door filled the basement doorway, with a keycard lock on the wall beside it. Everything else remained untouched.

"What a fuckin' mess." Cid continued to flick the lighter open and closed. Sometimes he rasped his thumb against the sparkwheel, but not firmly enough to make the flame catch. "Should be stayin' _here_ to fix this shit up..."

Vincent drifted close enough that his cloak brushed against Cid's shoulder. "Later, Cid."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, starshine. It just... fuckin' sucks, s'all."

"Mhm."

For several more sullen minutes, Cid surveyed the deep gouges his beast left in the floor. Then he snapped the lighter cap shut decisively and stowed it. The unlit cigarette got tucked behind his ear.

"Okay, time to figure out what the shit we need to do to batten the hatches, right?" Cid paced four steps towards the kitchen, then back. "Gotta start... shit, where the hell do we even _start_."

The longer Cid struggled to find any one thing to focus on, the more Vincent realized he was going to have to intervene. The floor was damaged enough without Cid wearing a new hole in it with his pacing.

"Elena gave us the keys to the basement."

They both studied the new basement door. Cid drummed his fingers against the side of his neck with a low, thoughtful hum. He scuffed the heel of his boot against the floor, breaking off a splintered piece. Vincent watched the bit of wood bounce a good several inches before it got stuck in a deep groove between broken boards.

"Startin' with the most valuable shit's not a bad idea," Cid eventually decided. "Get our personal shit outta here, then hire someone to rebuild while we're out." He glanced over at Vincent. "That gonna be okay with ya, havin' people here?"

"Strangers have already trampled any sense of privacy existed here."

"...Yeah, sorry."

"The fault is not yours."

"Kinda is for the WRO lurkin' 'round still."

Vincent shook his head, lips thinned out, but he recognized it as a futile argument. Neither would give in to the other.

"Ya wanna move?"

The abrupt question made Vincent blink. The world tilted one degree off-center, leaving him feeling wrong-footed and off-balance. "...What."

"If ya don't feel safe here anymore 'cuz people done got up in our fuckin business. D'ya wanna move somewhere else?"

"This is your home."

"Nah-uh." Cid came over to lay his hand over Vincent's chest, over dog tags and heartbeat. "This is."

Gingerly, Vincent caged Cid's hand in his claws, the sharp points digging into his own shirt and prickling the skin beneath. The discomfort, combined with the weight of Cid's hand, helped to put the world back to its correct alignment.

"Time."

"Aw, c'mon--" Cid exhaled, shoulders dropping as he dropped the protest. "Fine."

"Discuss it after the year is up."

"...Sure, prolly smarter to think 'bout it."

"Yes." Vincent put his bare palm against Cid's cheek, thumb swiping beneath his eye. "No recklessness. Not for this, Chief."

"Right. Okay." Cid turned his face to kiss Vincent's palm real quick, then stepped towards the basement. "Let's get started."

He jangled the keys, picked one at random, and stuck it in the keyhole. Though the key turned easy, it did not unlock the door. Instead, a panel in the wall to the right of the door slid open, revealing a retina and thumbprint scanner set inside the wall.

The device beeped and a mechanical voice said, "Default user data not resolved. Searching. Users Cid Highwind, Vincent Valentine, please resolve user data."

"Huh. That's pretty fancy," Cid commented. "Wonder what else them sneaky bastard Turks set up?"

As if summoned, Tseng entered through the back door, his shiny black shoes clicking on the kitchen tile with a little more force than necessary to announce his presence. He stopped near the remains of the kitchen table with the fingertips of his forefingers resting against the back of a chair.

"Valentine, Highwind."

Vincent inclined his head. "Tseng."

"Hey, Turk." Cid jerked his thumb towards the basement door. "Should we expect anything else?"

Tseng's dark eyes lingered on Vincent's face, searching, though his expression remained bland. "Nothing out of the ordinary." He didn't move. "We should discuss long term plans."

"Not now," Vincent said.

"This some kinda sneaky Turk shit goin' on here?" Folding his arms, Cid huffed, beginning to tap his foot.

"Not if they know what's good for them." Vincent brushed his hand down his front, as if to sweep away the implication. He settled the heel of his palm against the butt of his gun, his stance relaxed and gaze unfocused just to the left of Tseng's head.

Tseng took the lazy threat to heart, turning his hands out, fingers splayed. Nothing in his palms, nothing in his smile. "The locks, then. We upgraded what you had."

Vincent turned in place to track Tseng as the Turk walked over to the basement door, still making too much noise in his fancy shoes. Maybe he thought Cid would lash out. The pinched glower on Cid's face seemed to suggest he might, but Vincent knew better. He counted the seconds until Cid had an outburst.

Right on time, Cid jerked his hand sharply through the air, indicating the door. "Who the hell gave ya the goddamn right to come in here and fuck with our shit?"

"Captain," Tseng tried to interject, but Cid continued right on over him, voice rising.

"And, how the fuck we know ya ain't gone in and made yourselves some nice lil fuckin' back door keys to come trottin' on in to paw at all our private goddamn business!?"

When Cid stopped to catch his breath, Tseng held his hands up, placating. "We set them up based off of your public records. Once you two input your thumbprints and retina scans, the system will not accept anyone else."

Cid scoffed. "Fuckin' Turks. Why y'all always like this, playin' games and bein' thick as thieves."

"We take care of our own."

" _Formerly_ of the Turks," Vincent said.

Tseng peered at Vincent out of the corner of his eye, barely turning his head to do it. Then he turned his full attention back to Cid, silently dismissing the old, fruitless argument. The Turks would never accept that Vincent no longer counted as one of their own, not until he or the organization itself died.

"Captain, if you would...?"

"Whatever," Cid huffed.

Cid rubbed his right thumb vigorously against his jeans, then stepped up to the panel. He bent to put his eye at level for the scanner, straining not to blink as it ran red lights over the eyeball. While it did that, he jammed his thumb against the reader beneath the screen. The lights turned green, and the device chimed.

"Welcome, user Cid Highwind."

"Yeah, yeah." Cid stepped back, rubbing his fist against his eye.

"User data not resolved," the machine repeated. "Searching. User Vincent Valentine--"

"C'mon, starshine, shut the naggy lil shit up, why don'tcha?"

"The more technology changes, the more some things stay the same." Vincent sighed through his nose as he came over to go through the tedious process of keying in.

"Ya not plannin' on havin' a technological distress on this fuckin' thing just 'cuz it givin' ya sunspots, are ya?"

"...Not yet." Vincent straightened, blinking to try and get rid if the dark spots in his vision, to no avail.

"Welcome, Vincent Valentine," the device said. "Data resolved. Current status: locked. Last opened 168 hours ago."

"...Guessin' that's since install?"

"Yes," Tseng said. "We secured the premises as quickly as possible."

"Right, thanks and whatever." Cid nudged past Vincent to scan in, unlocking the door.

It chirruped loudly at him, "Door unlocked," as the door swung open. A chiming sound echoed through the house through the alarm system. Neither of them would miss when the door was opened.

Cid grabbed the keys from the door, then descended down the stairs with Vincent at his heels. As promised, the rest of the security was the same as before, just upgraded. They went through each of the expected security checks with no further difficulties.

Along one wall at the bottom of the stairs, someone had set a row of crates, stamped with the ShinRa insignia. Most of them were opened and emptied out, likely what the security measures arrived in.

Cid pulled the lid off the remaining one to find various parts. "Looks like replacements, if somethin' gets fucked..."

Vincent stopped near the bottom of the stairs. A reddish stain marred the floor and bottom steps, and he could not help staring down between his boots at it, ears ringing. His vision wavered and he struggled to breathe.

"Hey."

Vincent blinked and lifted his head.

Cid offered a lopsided smile, head tilted towards the vault door. "Ya okay? Got that look in ya."

"I... never learn." Vincent glanced down at the red stain again. "Mercy for someone with a gun is... foolish."

"Wasn't nothin' wrong with tryin'."

"Clearly there was."

"Nah, it... just didn't work out. We're okay now, right?"

Vincent met Cid's gaze and knew that reminding of all the trouble he'd caused would do no good. Cid flashed a grin at him, carefree. It didn't dispel the lurking guilt, but it helped soften it enough that Vincent could manage a tiny nod.

"C'mon then, got a lotta shit to do."

Cid walked over to the vault door to unlock it. He let them into its well-lit, climate controlled interior with nary a beep. Vincent stepped into the room, looking left then right, all while keeping his hand near his gun. Nothing jumped out at him as being out of place. The home invaders never made it that far and the Turks hadn't breached the last line of defense, leaving well enough alone.

Sauntering to the middle of the room, Cid stood with his fist against his hip. "Should we change the locks, or just move our shit?"

"Whatever you prefer."

"Real helpful, Valentine."

"Always."

Shaking his head with a quiet but dramatic sigh, Cid moved on to the vault itself. Vincent trailed after him and hung back in the entryway. Cid ran his finger along the top of one row of lock boxes, leaving a line in the dust. His fingers came to a stop against the side of the server, set there so long ago it felt like another lifetime.

"Ain't real confident in our usual hideyholes."

"Nor am I."

Cid laid his hand flat atop the server, turning to look at Vincent. "We don't have the time to set up somewhere new, and I'm not real fond of most our allies right now. Damn buggers're ready to jump down our throats."

Tucking his face into his mantle, Vincent hummed agreement. He glanced around the vault without moving his head. In one year, they'd amassed all the trappings of a life between the two of them, and then some.

"'Cept our friends, I guess, but I don't wanna put 'em at risk..."

"No."

"Ya gonna tell me any deets about where the fuck we're goin'? Does anyone know where this place is?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"So...? Ya got crypts and, what, some place to sleep?"

"A house." Vincent lifted one shoulder. "It will be small, thirty years out of date, and not very secure."

"'Cept no one knows it exists. Huh."

"Mhm."

Cid tipped his head to one side, drumming his fingers against his scruffy chin. "We could pare down, take the real important shit in a safebox."

"You could put such a thing in the crypts, if you like."

"Yeah?"

"Hmm." Vincent stepped further into the vault, drifting towards Cid. He walked his claws along the wavering line in the dust. "None but Valentines may enter it."

"That superstition or the real deal?" Cid asked.

"Real enough that I expect to have to clear away litter to get into the crypts at all."

"Thought no one knew 'bout this place..."

Vincent stopped next to Cid, dropping his gauntlet back under his cloak. "They don't, but that doesn't stop brave adventurers from stumbling upon it from time to time."

"Huh. I'll have to be careful. Don't wanna get my ass killed." Cid grinned. "But right on, sounds like the place to put the shit we won't be needin' for a while, even after we're done visitin'."

"Perhaps."

"'Kay, I'm gonna have a looksee, then we'll go back up to shake your turkey friends down for lunch."

"Turkeys..."

"Gobble gobble."

Vincent snorted, unable to stop the sound, and turned away. He did not miss the way Cid grinned at him, all teeth and delight. Cid clapped him roughly on one shoulder with a bark of laughter.

"Lookit ya, loosenin' up more all the time!"

"You're not as funny as you think..."

"Say that to my face!"

Shaking his head, Vincent stepped away and refused to look at Cid.

Laughing, Cid walked off to one side of the vault to begin going through the lockboxes. He soon began to speak to himself, keeping a running verbal tally of each item. Vincent left him to it, going in search of something to take notes with. He found an old notepad and dull stub of a pencil on a shelf in his armory, right next to a case containing a matching pair of revolvers.

His gaze lingered on the case, then he turned in place to take in the rest of the armory. The weaponry would pain him to leave, but Vincent thought most of it could safely be left behind and replaced later. Better to only bring what he would need to protect Cid than to bog them down in hundreds of pounds of guns.

Vincent brought the notepad and pencil back to the vault. He walked over to nudge the notepad against Cid's upper arm.

"Oh." Cid blinked, then smiled. "Thanks, starshine!"

"Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, I can pick out the shit I know's too risky to leave here, but Iunno 'bout your stuff..."

"I don't have much that can't be replaced. A few guns, the materia."

"Uh-huh, okay." Cid scratched out in big, sloppy letters, _gun_ and _materia_ at the top of his list. Then he added _server_ and _blueprints_. "Guess ya gotta figure out which guns?"

"Mhm."

Nodding, Cid went back to opening lockboxes, waving vaguely with the pencil over his shoulder. "Alright, I'll be here. Don't let us lose track of time."

"Time has no meaning," Vincent reminded.

"Special mission, jackass, help me watch the clock."

"As you wish."

Cid snorted. "That don't mean just lookit the clock and be a sassy bastard, neither. It says 1200, ya come pry my ass outta this job."

Wordless, Vincent bent to kiss the top of Cid's head. He closed his eyes, feeling his face soften into a smile. Teasing Cid and watching him grouch was too fun. As was dodging out of the way of his blind swat with the notepad.

Vincent retreated to his armory, where he ran his gaze, then his fingers over each gun, silently assessing which were most likely to be useful. For most fights, nothing would ever compare to Cerberus, but they would be out in the wilds, potentially needing to live off the land. Ammunition would be limited as well, and he spent some time debating whether it would be better to bring a wider variety of guns or only those that used one or two kinds of ammo.

By the time the analog clock ticking away above the door neared noon, Vincent had narrowed it down to two hunting rifles and a short barrel shotgun. He thought he'd choose from his more commonly used guns in the house for anything else he might need. In the meantime, he packed the guns into a canvas case, which he added to a larger duffle bag. He filled the rest of the space in the bag with as much ammo as he could fit, then grabbed another empty duffle bag for later.

After he carried the bags out to set them near the basement door, Vincent went to collect Cid.

"Hey, starshine. Almost done." Cid flapped a hand in his direction, frowning down at the notepad. "Looked through all the boxes, just gotta fuckin'... decide what ain't irreplaceable."

"You can do that over lunch, Chief."

"Ah, c'mon..."

"No. You gave me orders. Noon."

Groaning, but grinning all the same, Cid pushed himself to his feet. "Yeah, alright, let's blow this joint."


	31. about to bloom

When they came back upstairs, it was to find Elena and Tseng in the living room. They stood in front of the window with their hands behind their backs.

Vincent went to stand near them and saw that the window gave them a clear view of the WRO campsite and the majority of the patrols. He watched the seemingly endless and fruitless marching about for a moment. Elena glanced over at him; Tseng did not.

Tipping his head towards Cid, Vincent said, "The Captain could use some lunch."

"Ya plannin' on eatin' somethin' too, Valentine?" Cid asked.

"If you insist."

"Damn right I will."

"I'll get some take out." Elena pulled her phone out. "Do you have a preference?"

"There's a good ass soup place, called The Finest Stock." Cid pulled out a cigarette, put the filter between his lips, but made no move to light up. "They got a good beef minestrone." He jerked his thumb towards Vincent. "And a black noodle soup Vin'll kill a man for."

"I would not."

"'Bout did that time Cloud knocked your bowl over..."

"He would have had it coming."

Cid laughed. The two Turks stared at them, Elena with a bewildered, but fond smile, and Tseng with his usual inscrutable indifference. Vincent rolled his eyes, lids fluttering closed.

Instead of letting the silence be, Cid asked, "Y'all gonna keep standin' 'round at the window like vultures?" He fiddled with his lighter, brows up. The click-clack of his lighter cap opening and closing was like a metronome, lulling Vincent. "The whole damn neighborhood can see ya."

"I understand subterfuge and other such tactics are beyond you, Captain," Tseng said. "But have you considered that we know what we're doing?"

" _Beyond_ me? Beneath my fuckin' dignity, more like! The hell would I wanna go sneakin' 'round bein' an underhanded bastard for?"

Tseng's voice never changed cadence, never rose. He continued to look out the window as if Cid's rising ire meant nothing. "I thought you were supposed to be a smart man."

"Oh, _fuck_ off outta my house!"

Vincent stepped forward, throwing his arm out to keep Cid from starting a fist fight with Tseng. He gripped Cid's upper arm and shook his head slightly. Cid blew out an exasperated sigh, growled a few choice swears, and stomped out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Elena coughed. "I'll um... go watch his back and put in that food order, shall I?"

After she left, Vincent said, "You need to stop riling him up."

"Apologies."

"I'm sure."

Vincent tucked his face into his mantle and did not give voice to the prickly, overprotective irritation clawing at his insides. Instead, he watched Tseng walk to the front door, and he thought not very nice things about the younger Turk. Blood and screaming and the memory of him slouched and bloodied at the Temple of the Ancients, gored through by a long, skinny sword. Lucky AVALANCHE showed up to apply first aid when they did. Lucky to be alive.

Since it did no good to linger over thoughts he could not act on, Vincent moved back to the window. He saw Cid heading for the workshop. Elena followed not far behind with her phone to her ear.

It occurred to him that there was no reason for him to stay inside. If Tseng meant to say anything else, Vincent didn't particularly want to hear it right then. Vincent turned and brushed past him, heading out of doors. He made a beeline for the workshop, ignoring all the flinty stares of the WRO as he crossed their campsite.

Cid stood in the middle of the mess and idly kicked a stray piece of scrap metal. Elena stayed back, near the doors, concluding their lunch order. She flashed a brief smile at Vincent as he passed, and he nodded at her.

"Chief."

"Hey, starshine." Cid kicked the scrap metal and made it bounce off a nearby wall. "Man, like to bloody that asshole's nose..."

"Not worth it."

"Nah..."

Elena snapped her phone shut and pocketed it. "Thank you for your patience, Captain."

Waving his hand, Cid shrugged. "Ain't nothin' patient 'bout it."

"All the same." Elena smiled. "Do you need to move anything today?"

"Don't got transportation or nothin' ready yet, I guess."

"I can requisition something if you need."

"Yeah, mebbe."

"Discuss it after food,” Vincent said.

"Hey, yeah, when's the food comin'?"

"They said about fifteen minutes." Elena pulled her phone out to check the time, then nodded. "I'll go wait by the gate for them."

With both Turks temporarily out of their hair, Vincent strayed over to bump his shoulder against Cid's. That got him a toothy grin and Cid nudging back.

"Ya gonna get after me if I fill the time cleanin' up?"

"No."

"Cool."

Cid went to fetch the broom from where it leaned against the wall. He started sweeping up all the random bits scattered around, shoving it all into one big heap to be gone through later. Vincent walked through the workshop to put shelves and tables upright.

Fifteen minutes flew right by.

"Food's here!" Elena called from the doorway. She hefted two large bags, making the contents slosh.

"Fuckin' right on!"

Cid dragged Vincent out to the garden to eat their lunch. They sat together on the bench, thighs pressed together. At first, they did not speak, each too focused on eating, and that suited Vincent just fine. Better still, the Turks had chosen to stay behind in the living room, giving much needed space.

While Vincent bent over his bowl to slurp inky black noodles, he watched WRO agents patrol, seemingly at random. Every one of them gave the garden a wide berth, as if they thought he and Cid might be contagious. Vincent couldn't help but calculate whether they were within firing distance. They all were, of course, and he could make every shot before anyone could so much as blink.

The jostle of Cid's leg against his drew Vincent's attention away from idle daydreams of mayhem. Cid nodded towards the pond. The koi continued to thrive, unbothered by the chaos of their owner's life. The auto-feeding and cleaning devices Cid set up seemed to be in working order, though Vincent suspected he'd need to check them both. He couldn't remember how long the pond could go without attention. Probably not an entire year...

Cid scooped a spoonful of his minestrone up and catapulted it into the water. The fish swarmed on the bits of vegetable and pasta, kicking up a frenzy of bubbles as they vied for a piece.

"Are you sure you should be feeding fish table scraps, Chief?"

"Nah-uh." Cid shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Whatcha wanna do with 'em, when we go?"

"I don't know."

"Uh-huh. Mebbe Shera or Lucy'd look after 'em?"

"Isn't Shera's workload enough?" Vincent swirled his chopsticks in his bowl, pushing noodles aside to reveal a small, skinny mushroom. He picked it out and ate it. "Lucrecia forgets to feed _herself_."

"Fair 'nuff, but I think Lucy does alright when it's for someone else."

"Hmm..."

The idea of Lucrecia sitting on his bench, looking after his fish was a pleasing one. He thought she deserved every scrap of peace he could offer her. Still, he couldn't bring himself to agree to asking her. It was such a frivolous thing to make anyone else waste their time on. They were only fish, after all.

"Guess that's goin' on the list of shit to figure out... Low priority?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Uhh... Transportation." Cid tapped his spoon against the lip of the bowl, head tipped back so he could study the sky. "Thinkin' we get a lift on a freighter, go to Edge with a truck. Nah, prolly no fuckin' roads, right? What kinda terrain we gotta deal with?"

"Marshland, then mountains."

Cid sat up and twisted his body towards Vincent. "How rocky? Like, is this gonna be an on foot and me bitchin' the whole way kinda deal?"

Shaking his head, Vincent lowered his bowl, resting it against his thighs. "Unless things have changed drastically since my last visit, there are pathways through the mountains. They won't be wide enough for a buggie, if that helps."

"Yeah, it does. Okay. What 'bout somethin' the size of my truck?"

"Probably fine."

"Cool." Cid sank back against the bench, then lifted his bowl to take a few quick bites. After he swallowed, he said, "See what I can do 'bout replacin' my dead hunk of junk, get us a trailer if we got more'n a bed-load."

"What else is on the agenda, Chief?"

"Uhhh, shit. Packin' and movin' the valuables, of course, then we gotta... I guess make sure all our affairs are squared away, bills paid off for a year and all that fuckin' bull. Visitin' my family and then doctor Lucy so she can remove the boot imprint from my skull when my auntie's done with me." Cid shrugged. "That oughta be 'bout the size of it."

"Will you need company for your familial visit?"

"Nah-uh, if ya got stuff ya wanna do instead, I'll be fine."

Though he probably should go and make his amends for turning Cid into a monster, Vincent only nodded. "It may take me longer to pack."

"Yeah, that's cuz you're so fussy." Cid leaned into Vincent's side, digging his elbow against ribs. "S'okay. Mebbe I'll get my ass yelled at, get it outta the way, mebbe see if my cousins'll lend me a truck. Then I'll go lookin' to see if I can't get somewhere decent to crash that ain't moochin' at Shera's."

Feeling that Cid always took too much of the workload, Vincent asked, "Should I be doing anything else?"

"Uhh... Packin's good, unless ya wanna deal with repair people bustlin' 'round?"

"Am I the one making the arrangements."

"Nah-uh, I gotta sweet talk 'em."

Vincent nodded, just slightly. He still felt wary of the task, but he was going to be home anyway. It probably wouldn't be any worse than tolerating the continued presence of the WRO roaming around. "That's fine, then."

"Ya sure?"

"Mhm."

"Kay." Cid patted Vincent on the knee, then rolled up onto his feet. He fished the lid to his bowl out of the bag on the ground, secured it properly, and then set the bowl in the bag. "Prolly won't be no one over today, but I'll holler at people, get shit rollin'."

"Are you going now?"

"Yep. Daylight's wastin'."

Vincent set his noodles aside and rose to step close to Cid. He glanced around, waiting until the latest patrol of WRO agents turned their backs before touching his fingertips to Cid's brow, tracing the faint scar near his temple. It was on the tip of Vincent's tongue to say those three little words, but as always, his throat closed up and his breath hitched.

"Somethin' the matter, starshine?"

Wordless, Vincent shook his head.

He dropped his hand away, and Cid caught him by the wrist. They were too exposed, with too many eyes on them, to do anything sentimental. All the same, Cid dragged Vincent's hand up, placing it over his heartbeat. Vincent's eyelids fluttered as he inhaled slowly. He counted the steady beats and was half convinced that his own sped up to match it, until there was only one beat between them.

Cid squeezed his hand, then let go. "I'll see ya later, okay?"

"Later," Vincent agreed.

Somehow, parting filled his heart with a deep ache, even though it was only for the afternoon. Vincent watched Cid walk away, not moving until he was out of sight and the urge to chase after him blew away.

Then Vincent bent to gather up their leftovers. Taking them inside, he shoved them into the fridge. He eyed the two Turks still sitting in his living room as though they belonged there.

Elena glanced towards the back door with her brows up. "Where's the Captain?"

"Errands."

"Oh." Elena dropped her spoon into her bowl and exchanged a glance with Tseng. After a second or two of silent communication, she nodded. "And what are your plans, Vincent?"

Choosing not to answer, Vincent watched Tseng get up and leave. If he had to guess, it was to tail Cid. He debated interfering, but if he couldn't be there to watch Cid's back himself, then having someone competent to do it was reassuring, even if he didn't trust any of the newer Turks any further than he could throw the _Shera_. He'd deal with the fallout later, when Cid inevitably came back to make his irritation known.

"Vincent?"

Vincent blinked, looking away from the door to Elena. "I need boxes."

"Are you packing, then?"

"Hn."

"I'll see what I can do." Elena tidied up the remains of her lunch, as well as the trash Tseng left behind. She carried it all to the sink to dump out the dregs of broth before tossing the trash. "Anything else I can get you?"

"No." Vincent took a step towards the stairs, then paused and turned back. "We may be forced to put up with repair people."

"Any security measures you want to take beforehand?"

"If I say yes, will I find someone trapped in my bathroom?"

Elena adjusted her tie, a nonchalant gesture that gave her something to do that wasn't staring at Vincent. "Are you going to do the paperwork?"

"No."

"Then I'm not doing that."

Vincent snorted, hiding his face behind his mantle and hair. Elena smiled, a soft, easy thing that showed no teeth and made her eyes crinkle at the corners. For a moment, they were just two friends, neither wrapped up in trappings of The Suit and all that it entailed.

Then Elena cleared her throat. "I'll go get those boxes, then, shall I?"

"Alright."

Vincent headed for the stairs. He stepped over one of the ragged claw marks on the floor and paused at the bottom step, assessing the damage. Even without the use of his inhuman abilities, getting up them was no trouble.

Upstairs, he went for his room, shedding his cloak to drop it on the end of the bed. After some thought, he removed his gun holster as well, setting it atop the cloak. Both would get in the way while he sorted through his belongings.

He strode over to his closet and threw open the door, then stood there with his arms hanging limp at his sides. Merely looking at the neat and orderly rows of his limited wardrobe penned in by carefully stacked boxes and organized hodgepodge of belongings was enough to remind him of how daunting the task before him was. The corner of his mouth twitched as he remembered the look on Cid's face while grappling through the same realization.

If it were a matter of packing up their entire house and moving somewhere else permanently, Vincent would have no trouble. Most of his personal belongings were already packed. His scattered weaponry and books would take the most time, as would assisting Cid in cleaning up the detritus of a life well-stocked and well-lived. He despaired having to decide what sorts of kitchenware they might need. Figuring it out the _first_ time was bad enough. Doing so with the added constraints of it being only a temporary existence seemed too tedious to contemplate.

Vincent tapped his claws together, mulling it over. They would have one truck, approximately the size of Cid's poor, battered thing, and possibly a trailer. No, very likely they'd have half of a Chocobo trailer. Or was Cid planning on having their friends drive another truck? He knew Lucrecia, Yuffie, and Nanaki were coming along, and that Cid wanted to meet up with Barret, but they _were_ passing through Edge, and that meant the potential for the whole Seventh Heaven gang.

"Damn."

Sighing, Vincent rolled his eyes. Perhaps they should have hashed out the details more thoroughly before he let Cid go for the afternoon. The impending headache of too many friends tramping around his ancestral homeland aside, he couldn't possibly know how much or how little to pack without knowing with absolute certainty how much space they had to work with.

At the least, he could assume that his paltry wardrobe was a necessity. Vincent dug out a duffel bag from one of the boxes and got to work tightly rolling everything up to pack it away. Most of his clothing still consisted of plain black, usually leather, though he had a growing number of cotton and wool. After he'd emptied his closet, he went to his dresser to add socks, underwear, belts, and the various odds and ends he didn't normally wear. Cid would be horrified if he didn't bring his jeans and turtlenecks.

Elena appeared in the doorway just as Vincent zipped the bag up and dropped it at the end of his bed. She had a flattened cardboard box under one arm and a pair of scissors and some packing tape in the other hand.

"Knock knock," she said. "I didn't know where you would want them, so there's more down the hall, and the WRO is putting even more downstairs." She propped the flat box against the wall, then set the scissors and tape atop Vincent's dresser.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything you need help with?"

"I don't know where to begin."

Normally, Vincent would never admit such a thing in front of the Turks, but Elena was different. She never ratted him out to the others, and always seemed happiest when he let her help.

She brightened up immediately. "Oh, okay! Well, clothes?"

"Done."

"Should you pack the Captain's clothes, or can he be trusted to handle it himself?"

Vincent's instinct was to trust in Cid's capabilities, but on second thought, the man _was_ the kind to keep wearing socks with holes in them. Nodding slightly, Vincent went to the door separating his room from Cid's. He unlocked it, then stepped through, regarding the devastation left behind by Cid's last unfortunate transformation.

"Woah." Elena peered around Vincent with wide eyes. "It's even worse than Tseng said."

"Hn. If you don't mind..."

"Oh, sorry. I'll get out of your hair. Um, do you want me to try packing anything for you?"

"...Kitchenware. Essentials only, for one year of living in a rural area, limited electricity."

"Yessir!"

Once Elena vanished out into the hall, Vincent ventured further into Cid's room. He trailed his fingers along the bedspread as he skirted the wreckage. The blue-and-yellow quilt would be coming with them, of course, and thinking about that helped him decide what he would pack after clothing.

Like Vincent, Cid had duffel bags to spare in his closet, though his organization methods left much to be desired. The bags were buried at the very bottom of haphazard piles of half-opened boxes and an assortment of belongings ranging from tools and mechanical parts that should have stayed in the workshop to a fuschia snowboard, complete with gloves, boots, and helmet all in blue.

Vincent excavated the bags, then peered through some of the boxes to confirm that no clothes were kept in the closet. Cid preferred to shove everything in his dresser, folded or not. Wrinkles didn't bother him none, since most of his wardrobe consisted of denim and cotton, most of it stained from work.

The only thing he found in the boxes were old collectibles. Vincent poked his fingers through one that seemed to be filled to the brim with ancient childhood toys, all of them the small, tacky plastic things one used to be able to get from gumball machines. It made his heart swell a little, thinking of Cid as a child, setting up armies of soldiers and monsters. Though, judging by the scorch marks on a few of them, Cid was more likely to have fielded a miniature space program than played at war.

Compulsively, Vincent helped himself to a tiny yellow chocobo, pocketing it. The goofy little thing could keep his own childish treasure company. If Cid got annoyed with him about it, he'd make amends later.

Other boxes contained old magazines, sorted by content. One had well-read engineering publications, another held colorful and often lurid five gil pulp. There was even one with a mix of scifi and fantasy comic books, the names of which were sometimes familiar to Vincent. He was honestly surprised things like _The Amazing Mako Man_ kept on printing long after his first death. He'd have to ask Cid to read through them, just to see if they were as fantastically awful as he remembered.

That was the real trouble with packing, Vincent realized. He was apt to spend all his time looking through their belongings and reminscincing than get anything done.

Sighing ruefully at himself, he carried the duffel bag over to Cid's dresser to begin sorting through the clothes. Anything with holes ended up in a heap on the floor. Everything else went into the bag, and barely filled it halfway. Vincent frowned, making a mental note that they needed to add clothes for Cid to the list of supplies to get. It'd been a while since he was able to take care of it.

That done, Vincent moved onto bedding. He folded up the quilt and put it in its own bag, then brought another empty bag along as he went for the linen closet in the hall. The house they'd be staying in would only have the one bed, but he packed extra sheets anyway. Between Cid's penchant for cigarettes in bed and his claws, they always ended up going through bedding too quickly.

He went back to his room to pad out the remaining space in the bag with his blankets. Two thin, twin-sized red ones made of knitted cotton, one double-sized black comforter, and a fluffy red throw for their feet. If Cid wanted more than that plus his quilt, he'd have to pack it himself.

The last item on the bedding list was pillows. Vincent tipped his head to the side, squinting at his pile. Most of them were stacked on the floor against the wall from Cid's last visit. They would take up so much space. He settled on picking out his two favorites, resolving to pick more up on supply runs. New pillows would be flattened out and packed tightly, not yet fluffed up, which would be more convenient. Anyway, he probably needed to replace a few, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Since he had no idea which of Cid's pillows was considered the best one, he left well enough alone.

Clothes, bedding... Guns seemed to be the next safest bet.

Vincent walked to the bedside table and pulled the drawer open. A small handgun and clip sat beneath a hidden panel. He inspected both, fingers tracing along the muzzle with morbid fondness.

When he'd joined the Turks, the N1811 handgun was standard issue. He never bothered requesting anything fancier in all his years of service, and thus, it was the gun he'd been buried with for thirty years. When AVALANCHE asked him if it had a name, he'd shrugged. Yuffie was the one to call it Quicksilver, spinning some fantastic tall tale about how fast he could draw and fire it, and how he surely must have made a name for himself to be locked up in a coffin.

Vincent picked it up, pocketing both it and the clip. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd be taking it with him. Keeping it near his bed felt akin to keeping a childhood comfort object nearby.

He made his rounds through the house after that, collecting all of his guns and ammunition, packing those he wasn't taking with in boxes to be taken down to the basement vault later. Even if he couldn't take everything with them, he wasn't about to leave unsecured guns laying around, no matter how well hidden they were.

"Oh, Vincent," Elena called, from the kitchen. "I think I've got the basics pared down, if you want to check?"

Vincent strayed over to peer at the neat row of kitchenware lined up on the counter. Four sets of dinner plates, saucers, bowls, coffee mugs, glasses, forks, knives, and spoons; a frying pan; two different sized sauce pans; a strainer; a handful of kitchen utensils; cutting knives and board; a stack of mixing bowls, a measuring cup, and measuring spoons. A thorough collection of the basic amenities.

Nodding, Vincent added another frying pan to the pile. "Seems fine."

"Okay. I'll get this packed up, then."

"Thank you."

Leaving her to it, Vincent wandered from the kitchen. While he tried to think of what else needed packing, his gaze roamed all the cherished knick knacks and photographs scattered on the walls and shelves of their living room. The photos continued on down the halls, sometimes interspersed with random pieces of art or framed blueprints.

Before he knew it, he stood outside his library. Vincent tapped the back of his foreclaws against his chin as he entered the room. Most of his collection would have to stay behind, but he'd go right out of his skull if he had _nothing_ to read.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, eventually joined by Elena. Together, they perused his collection, slowly cobbling together a single box of essential reading. Then another one that he'd bring only if there were enough room.

Eventually, productivity broke down in favor of coffee. Vincent sprawled on his favorite chair in the library, idly leafing through a favorite book about a dragon knight. Elena laid claim to the couch Cid usually crashed on, reading one of the latest releases from a series of mysteries about a tough dame from Midgar.

Cid found them like that late in the evening.

"Oi, c'mon ya lazy bookworms, we brought curry."

Cid stood in the library doorway and rattled a plastic bag. The smells emanating from it made Vincent's stomach rumble. He set his book aside and rose to his feet, stretching.

"Did you finish your errands, Captain?" Elena asked, as she got up.

"Just about. Still a lotta shit to do, but eh, day's done."

That, Vincent thought as he followed Cid out to the living room, summed it up.


	32. look so pretty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to real life circumstances, I'll be switching to twice a month uploads for a while. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

After dinner, Cid headed outside to have a smoke. Vincent followed him, and together they wandered towards the She Devil's enclosure, navigating their way through the WRO patrols and makeshift camp.

When they reached the gate to the enclosure, Cid stubbed his cigarette out on the nearest post and tucked it into his pocket. Then he swung the gate open and held it for Vincent. After they were both inside, he clanged it shut, then sauntered towards the stable.

The chocobo was already inside her stall, sleepily preening herself. At the squeak of the stable door sliding open, she raised her head to peer over with a baleful stare. As Cid came closer, she fluffed up, but did not make any sounds of warning.

"Hey, girly, how ya doin'? Have a nice dinner?" Cid kept his voice light and even.

Vincent hung back a respectful distance, taking a seat on a barrel near the door. He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, watchful but not tense. The She Devil didn't have enough room to maneuver, and she would be greatly slowed down by a recent meal even if she did want to cause a ruckus.

She stamped her feet when Cid opened her stall, but she soon settled down once she saw the rag in his hand. He approached her and rubbed it over her beak. Before long, the She Devil settled down in her straw, obligingly holding her limbs out one at a time so that he could give her a thorough rubdown. As she was a bird, Cid had to be careful not to bend or break any of her feathers, so his strokes always went one way, except when he dug his fingers up in between them to deliver the good scratches that made She Devil's head droop and her beak clatter.

As he worked, Cid called out, "Aunt Betty's pissed ya didn't come 'round to say hi, by the way."

"I see."

"She'll prolly wanna see us both before we head out."

"Understood."

"Darrel's lendin' us a truck, and Shera's got the flight handled."

"What else, Chief?" Vincent asked.

"Orders for repair shit is in. Most of it won't be done in a week, so we'll prolly hafta leave 'em to it." Cid flapped his rag, shaking off dust and fluff. "Don't seem like the WRO got plans to fuck off anytime soon."

Glancing to the side, Vincent could see the bobbing lights of patrols through the stable doors. It seemed the shifts never ended. He wondered how long Reeve could keep them at it, or whether Reeve had total control of his organization anymore.

"If Rufus has no pressing need for them, perhaps the Turks can babysit after we leave."

"Hah, mebbe!"

Cid finished up, patting the She Devil's flank hard enough for the smack of his palms to echo. Then he came out of the stall, securing the door behind him, and wandered over to stand near Vincent. He rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets, and gazed out the doors.

Neither of them said a word for a while.

Then Cid hummed, looking around the stable. "Uhh, what else... Got in touch with a friend that owns a lotta properties 'round here. She said she's full up. So it's stayin' here or goin' back to Shera's, sorry."

"I'd prefer the option without the risk of you breaking your neck in the middle of the night."

"Still worried, huh?"

Vincent met Cid's gaze, mouth drawn down in a thin line. There was no need to say anything.

With a snort, Cid bobbed his head. "Alright then. Let's head back, get some shut eye."

Before Vincent could stand up, Cid moved to stand between his legs. He bent to brace his hands against Vincent's thighs and rested their foreheads together. Just that, and nothing more. Vincent didn't mind. He reached up to flick the dog tags dangling between them with a claw, relishing the clink of metal against metal. The tags swayed between them as Cid's smile grew.

"Need something, Chief?"

"Just missed ya today, s'all."

"Hmm."

Vincent put his hand over Cid's sternum, but lingered over the heartbeat only for a moment. He slid his hand upwards, past Cid's collarbone and around his neck. There, Vincent applied pressure, urging him down. When Cid got the hint, he sank to sit in Vincent's lap with a long exhale. He nosed into the cape's mantle to press his face against Vincent's neck. His warm breath made Vincent shiver and tip his head to the side. He was awarded with light kisses up and down his neck.

While he kept his right arm loosely draped around Cid's shoulders, Vincent reached blindly with his claws off to the side. He fumbled for the door's switch and hit it with maybe a little too much force. The door rattled shut, leaving them in dimly lit privacy with no one to witness but a chocobo that chirped softly in her sleep.

Vincent wrapped both arms around Cid, drawing him closer. Holding on like he never meant to let go. Cid rubbed his shoulder with one hand; the other trailed down the buckles of his shirt.

"Ya not too worn out from today?"

"I don't know."

"Uh-huh. Well, guessin' ya don't wanna fool 'round _here_..."

"I prefer not being watched by overgrown chickens."

Cid snickered. "Or turkeys."

"They're not here."

"Ya sure?" Cid lifted his head and glanced around. "Wouldn't put it past sneaky Turks to bug the place."

"Ah."

They exchanged an awkward glance.

Then Cid laughed and Vincent rolled his eyes, and neither of them separated. If the Turks _had_ bugged them, then the only secrets observed would be an invasion of privacy that would ruin their already fragile reputation. Vincent hoped Elena would have a few objections to make on his behalf, as well, but he knew the Suit preceded friendships.

"Yeah, so, let's not put on a show, huh?"

"Let's not," Vincent agreed. "The splinters alone would be a cruel enough fate, nevermind the voyeurism of 'turkeys'."

"Oh, shit, yeah, splinters and straw're almost as bad as sand."

Vincent tilted his head, squinting. "I take it you've experienced barnyard shenanigans firsthand..."

"Yep!"

"Why am I not surprised."

"I'm a country boy, what'd ya expect?"

"You were born in Junon."

"Just 'cuz I lived on the coast don't mean we didn't have _farms,_ Vince." Cid flicked his fingers against a buckle on Vincent's mantle. "Matter of fact, it just means there were _also_ fisher's daughters to chase."

"Only their daughters?"

Cid grinned cheekily.

"How did you not get shot."

"I've always been the most fuckin' charmin' dude!"

Vincent rolled his eyes and hid his smile against Cid's shoulder. "If you say so."

"I do, so it's a done fuckin' deal, and you're just gonna have to live with that." Cid draped his arms around Vincent's shoulders, rubbing one hand into the constant knot of tension at the crook of Vincent's neck. 

"A terrible fate." Sighing, Vincent sank under Cid's ministrations. "Whatever shall I do."

"I dunno. Guess ya gotta marry me or somethin', protect all them fisher's daughters."

"I shall do my best."

Cid chuckled, pulling back enough that he could work both hands on one shoulder. "Hey, ya wanna head back?"

"...In a minute."

"Could do this easier if we were on a bed."

"Mhm."

They stayed like that a while longer, until there came a rattle from the stable doors. Cid snorted, pulling away to stand, and put both hands against his lower back as he stretched. Vincent stood as well and shook his cloak out though there was nothing clinging to it.

Not a moment later, the door slid open a crack to reveal Elena's worried face. She glanced side to side, checking the premesis, before settling her gaze on Cid and Vincent.

"Toldja the turkeys were watchin'."

"Oh, um," Elena said. "Just checking in before we head out for the night."

"Uh-huh, sure." Cid jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the stables. "Ya plannin' on cleanin' up your bugs when you're done?"

"How did you know?"

Cid just gave her an exasperated look, head angled down with his eyes rolled up, mouth slanted. He folded his arms and tapped his foot.

She cleared her throat and tugged at her gloves. "Sorry."

"The job doesn't change and remains predictable as ever," Vincent said. "...but I can hear the one above us."

"Huh, really?" Tipping his head back, Cid peered upwards. His eyes squinted until they were nearly shut. "...Me too. I thought I was just dealin' with the usual bullshit."

"Mm." Vincent swept past Elena, going out into the yard. "Well meaning though it may be, I'm told friends don't spy on one another."

"Sorry," Elena repeated, shoulders hunched. "We'll, uh, I'll make sure they're gone."

Knowing that she would stay up all night fretting at it, Vincent glanced back. "Do it tomorrow. We can discuss which ones to leave for security."

"Okay, sure."

Cid actually clapped her on the shoulder as he came out of the stable. Then he swung the door shut and checked that it latched and locked properly. Elena stared at him, a little wide eyed, as he sauntered off with Vincent in tow. She probably didn't know how to react. Maybe she thought Cid would blow his top over it, but, really, what _was_ a little spying among Turks?

The three of them exited the chocobo corral together.

Elena gave an awkward little wave, glancing between the two of them. "Maybe we ought to go over security tonight?"

Something about the way she said it gave Vincent pause. He looked over at Cid, who just shrugged.

"Alright."

Smiling a little too brightly, Elena led them to the house. Inside, she hesitated at the foot of the stairs. "Would you mind sitting this one out, Captain?"

"Sure fuckin' would." Cid scoffed, glowering. "Y'all can't tell me what this is 'bout?"

"I'm concerned that your, um, recent developments might get the better of you if you know too many details..." Elena poked the tips of her forefingers together and politely looked anywhere but at Cid.

Vincent frowned, but could find no fault in the reasoning. "Could go downstairs and start packing, Cid." He did not add that it would put Cid behind the security measures, thus keeping him safe when no one else was around to watch him.

For a moment, Cid's face darkened, brows scrunched up and mouth downturned. Then he blew out an exasperated breath and shook his head. "...Yeah, fuck, alright, I'm goin'."

"Thanks, Captain," Elena said. "And, sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. G'wan and do your sneaky Turk shit."

After Cid vanished down into the basement, Elena led him upstairs, to his library. Inside, Tseng stood near the windows, peering through a scant gap in the blinds with his body turned to the side, in the shadow of the curtains. A tangled heap of wires lay on the coffee table. It took Vincent a moment to identify them as disconnected sensors, likely from various hidden cameras and microphones.

Elena shut and locked the door, then leaned back against it with her arms folded. "All clear?"

"To the best of my knowledge," Tseng said. "Do you sense anything, Vincent?"

"...No." Vincent moved to stand in the middle of the room, near the table. He stood so that neither Turk was directly behind him, a long ingrained habit that he couldn't shake off even in the presence of allies. "What is this about."

"Your house is bugged." Elena fidgeted with her cufflinks, but stared straight at Vincent with her chin up. "The only things we set up are at the exits."

Vincent looked down at the wires. "Then..."

"We have reason to believe that the WRO is compromised." If Tseng's voice had a temperature, it would be below zero.

He adjusted his tie as he came over to sit in Vincent's favorite chair. Once seated, he crossed his legs, palms laid flat on the arms of the chair. The very picture of nobility that thought he had the right. It rankled, and Vincent fought down the urge to upend the table _and_ the chair, spilling the whole damned headache on the floor.

"Are you implying Reeve is complicit?" Vincent asked.

"No." Tseng lifted the first two fingers of his left hand and waved them, dismissing the suggestion with minimum effort. "Rather, the WRO is growing too large and cannot feasibly monitor everything that goes on within its ranks."

"Hn."

"There are, I believe, quite a few who hold a grudge against you, and now Captain Highwind, correct?"

Vincent inclined his head.

The clearest memory was that of the Agent that greeted them, though the face was but a blur of shadow. Fritz. A furious man that spoiled for a fight without apparent rhyme or reason... Just the thought of him made Vincent's claws twitch.

Worse still, a worryingly large showing of Agents testified against Cid during the trial. Vincent didn't know all their names, but he felt certain he could recognize them if he ran into them again. If they weren't acting because of personal grievances caused by Vincent and Cid's failings, they'd need to be taught a lesson, and soon.

"There's a strong possibility of a connection with the group that invaded your home."

Vincent lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at Tseng, brought sharply back to the present. "The remnants of Luz Vuelve... Their sickly light sputters within the WRO?"

"That's the conclusion we've come to."

"We can trust no one, then. Nothing new there."

Flicking his fingers against the tattered edges of his cloak, Vincent turned away and paced towards the window. He watched the WRO patrols far below. Suddenly, their lackadaisical behavior since returning to Rocket Town made a chilling sort of sense. A lapse in watchfulness gave opportunities for underhanded tactics. It also gave rise to the potential of triggering Cid's transformation.

Though his instinct was to rush to Cid's side immediately, Vincent made himself stay where he was. "Is that all?"

"Though none of the invaders present during the attack escaped," Elena said, "that doesn't mean they were all in. We might have a lead on their local base of operations."

Vincent turned from the window. "Where?"

"There's a drilling community about five miles out, near Rig 0003. We were able to trace the route the invaders took through traffic surveillance. Admittedly, that ends about two miles outside of Rocket Town, but the road only goes one way, and they had to be nearby..."

"Understood." Vincent set the palm of his hand against the butt of his gun, fingers loose for the time being. "They should be eliminated before they can cause more trouble."

"We agree," Tseng said, "But we need a little more time to make the arrangements to keep it quiet."

"How long?"

"It's unlikely that any moles in the WRO will act as long as they have to deal with the double threat of you _and_ the Captain..."

"So our assumption is that we shouldn't leave the Captain unattended," Elena interjected. She poked her fingers together, looking almost bashful with her head tilted down. "He's not very stealthy, and they'd notice if he went, so we can't take him with..."

"You assume they would try something if one or both of you stayed behind?"

"Most likely." Tseng shrugged languidly, rolling his hand in the air. "If this group thought they had a chance of catching you both off guard before, they may not think much of taking another chance when the Captain is unarmed, with only the Turks to look after him."

Vincent snorted. "So little faith in your suits now?"

"Hardly." Tseng's expression, never emotive, went totally blank. His tone was like ice and he barely moved his jaw as he spoke. "However, the days of the Turks being unanimously a force to be reckoned with are all but gone. Our reputation is so tarnished that we can no longer play our cards assuming the enemy might be cowed before the fight begins."

Vincent hoped it pained him to finally admit that the Turks amounted to little and less than nothing in the modern day. Maybe one day he'd hear one of them admit their precious ShinRa was worthless, too.

Instead of needling, Vincent asked, "Then what do you intend to do?"

Tseng rose from the chair, gently brushing his fingertips down the front of his suit. He cleared his throat. "Vincent, may I borrow your cloak?"

"What."

"If they are not afraid of the suit, then perhaps a different fear is required..."

"You intend... to pose as _me_?"

"You want to go take care of the problem personally, do you not?" Tseng rounded the table and approached Vincent. He lifted his hand, touching fingertips to the top of his own head, then brought them out towards Vincent, not quite touching. "I am perhaps an inch shorter, but with the correct posturing and costume, no one will be the wiser for one evening of carnage."

Vincent squinted, mulling the prospect over. Then he hooked his claws into the straps securing his mantle, undoing them in one fluid gesture. He swept the cloak off his own shoulders and held it out to Tseng, feeling exposed without it.

With an odd amount of reverence for an old, tatty bit of wool, Tseng accepted the cape and draped it over his arm. "I'm afraid I'll need to further impose by borrowing some of your clothes, and one of your guns, as well."

"Not Cerberus."

"No," Tseng agreed. "But it will need to be one of your identifiable ones."

"Alright." Before they could get too comfortable with their plan, Vincent held up one claw. "But you are going to explain things to Cid."

Not even the training of a Turk could quite repress the mirrored expressions of minute horror on Tseng and Elena's faces. Vincent took pleasure in it as he swept from the room.


	33. gone so soon

When Vincent got downstairs, the sound of flickering flame drew him to the kitchen, where he found a kettle on the stove and Cid on his knees, rummaging around under the sink. Vincent wandered over to prop his hip against the counter, arms folded, to wait until Cid finished his tinkering.

"You're supposed to be in the basement."

"Water leak," Cid muttered. "Where's my wrench?"

Vincent reached into the sink to retrieve the stray tool from where it sat in a shallow puddle of grimy, grayish water. He wrinkled his nose as he held it down towards Cid. The liquid dripped onto the floor, an annoyance that he would probably have to clean up soon, else it would haunt him the whole year long.

The Turks came down the stairs a moment later. Elena entered the kitchen to stand a respectful distance away with her hands behind her back. Tseng drifted towards one of the front windows, restless in his stillness. Perhaps he worried about explaining the plan to Cid. Or, as Cid would put it, perhaps he was up to "sneaky Turk shit".

Since Cid didn't seem to notice anything, Vincent cleared his throat.

"Huh?" Cid pulled his head out from under the sink, blinking. Then he smiled and accepted the wrench. "Thanks." He ducked right back under to make several clanking noises.

"I didn't realize plumbing was a priority," Vincent said.

"Like I said, water's leakin', gettin' downstairs, and I wasn't sure when ya'd be done with..."

Another clank, followed by a loud clatter cut off whatever else Cid meant to say. The water in the sink drained out in a rush, spilling into what sounded like a plastic bucket. Vincent hoped it was a bucket, anyway, and not something they used to eat... or worse, the bottom of the cupboard.

"Eugh, fuck," Cid muttered. "What'n the hell's this...?"

Cid dragged the red plastic bucket he used for mopping out from under the cupboard. A wad of newspapers sloshed around in the grimy water. He poked at it, then picked at the edges, beginning to peel the paper away.

Instinct screamed at Vincent, a high pitched howl of terror and rage that made his blood feel like static. His hear skipped a beat and stopped, then his focus sharpened, his movements speeding up even as everything else seemed to slow down.

He lunged downwards to snatch Cid's wrist, then shoved the bucket back into the cupboard and slammed the doors. Blue eyes widened comically, mouth hanging open, but Vincent gave Cid no time to demand answers. He yanked Cid against himself and threw all their parts away from the cupboard, flying backwards. Like a tidal wave, they swept over Elena, pulled her in, and flowed onwards.

A hissing sound echoed inside the cupboard, growing in volume until it crackled and bubbled. The fire glowed white hot in the narrow gaps beneath the cupboard doors.

The next beat of his heart seemed like it would never come, but it did, a dull thud that broke Vincent's concentration. Everything snapped back into place, speeding up all at once. The three of them tumbled apart and hit the wall near the front door. Vincent kept himself draped over Cid and Elena, holding them down beneath his body.

The bomb ripped through what remained of their kitchen, flinging wood and tile and ceramic. A cupboard door smashed against the microwave. Chunks of the sink destroyed the kitchen window. Flaming debris sailed into the living room, scorching whatever it touched.

A molten piece of metal smashed into Vincent's shoulder, burning. He gasped sharply, claws scraping across the floor. Cid fisted his shirt, and Elena pushed feebly, but Vincent refused to be budged, not until it was safe.

Someone grabbed the end of Vincent's shirt and snapped it upwards, flinging the metal away. Tseng, probably. Vincent couldn't lift his head from Cid's shoulder to look.

The hum and glow of materia being activated filled the air. Some great beast roared, the noise echoing off the walls and inside Vincent's skull. A shock of icy water hit him. It flowed over everything, flooding the house. He clung to Cid and Elena to keep from being separated as the water sent them swirling and tumbling head over heels.

The water surged out the windows and doors, spilling debris and belongings out into the night. Vincent groaned softly as they hit the ground, jostling his burnt back. And again as Cid finally rolled him off and started yanking his shirt away from the injury while Elena scrambled for her materia.

Panicked WRO Agents came barreling in, guns at the ready. Tseng swiftly stepped in front of them, cutting them off. He herded them right back out the door with soft, firm words.

Cid's gruff voice, quick and worried. Elena's, quieter but no less afraid.

Vincent couldn't make out what was said because his ears continued to ring, his blood pounded, and it still felt like he was burning. A twist of irony, that, since he was immune to fire. He closed his eyes and tried to _breathe_ while they exposed him, poked and prodded at him, slathered some cooling gel on his back, and doused him in shimmering lights that hurried his already too fast healing along.

He thought he might be sick, soon, if they didn't let him alone.

"Alright, c'mon, let's give him room to breathe."

Cid rolled Vincent onto his side, head pillowed on his leg. He kept his hand against Vincent's neck, fingers splayed over the pulse. They twitched, and claws, not nails, scraped lightly over Vincent's skin.

With dull irritation, Vincent realized he might be laying in a puddle of water, though his soaked clothes and hair stuck to his skin, making it difficult to be certain.

Otherwise, Vincent was finally allowed to breathe. He lay there with his eyes closed, waiting out the ache of his body mending.

Little by little, his body and his mind came back together.

Vincent opened his eyes to find Cid hunched over him. His blue eyes glowed fever bright. The pupils were narrow slits that dilated on meeting Vincent's gaze.

"Okay, starshine?" Cid asked, voice soft and growly.

Water dripped from Cid's face, splattering against Vincent's cheek. Vincent swiped the back of his hand against Cid's face to wipe the liquid away. It was warm, but he decided not to comment.

"And you?"

"Yeah. Scared the hell outta me." Cid lifted his head, looking out over the damp wreckage. "Thought them WRO fucks were s'posed to be watchin' my ass."

Elena said, "About that..."

The sound of something large scraping across the floor came from somewhere off to the right. Vincent pushed up to his elbows to find Tseng shoving the remains of one of the armchairs against the broken windows, blocking off line of sight. Elena moved to help him with the couch.

Tseng clapped his hands together to dust them, futile though it was. He continued to face the window. "We should take advantage of the confusion."

"Y'all gonna fill me in?" Cid demanded.

Instead, Tseng turned his head towards Vincent, not looking at either of them. "Clothing, Valentine?"

Vincent sighed. Damned Turk efficiency. "Upstairs."

He sat all the way up, but slowly. Vertigo threatened to make him topple right back over. Though Cid grumbled, getting increasingly aggravated by the Turks explaining nothing, he put his hand against Vincent's back to steady him, well away from the still tender burn.

"The basement is the safest place for a briefing, sir," Elena said.

Tseng nodded. "Fine."

"What the fuck is--"

"Cid." Vincent laid his claw against Cid's knee. "Time."

With a huff, Cid relented, but not without hissing, "Ya been usin' that a fuck of a lot lately, Valentine."

Guilt nicked his heart strings, the old, familiar ache weighing him down. Vincent rubbed at his chest, as though he could physically ease it. He looked anywhere but at Cid.

"Sorry."

While Tseng headed upstairs, Elena held her arm out towards the basement door. "If you'd let us down into the basement, Captain?"

"Yeah."

Cid rolled to his feet and held his clawed, scaled hands out to Vincent to help him up. The scales went all the way up to his elbows. As Vincent brushed his fingers along them, Cid grimaced, showing a mouthful of too many teeth. Somehow, he managed to hold back the rest of the transformation.

Despite his obvious discomfort and annoyance, he still worried about Vincent more than himself.

"Ya need any help?"

"I'll be fine," Vincent promised.

His first few steps to follow Cid over to the basement door were slow and shaky, but he did not slip. It got easier the longer he was upright. Soon, it would be as if nothing happened at all.

Cid unlocked the basement door and they trooped down the stairs past the rest of the security checks. Elena brought up the rear, propping open the door with a chunk of wood from one of the splintered kitchen cabinets. It made the alarm chirp, but meant Cid wouldn't have to go back up to let Tseng in.

"Here's far enough, I think," Elena said, at the bottom of the stairs. "You don't have to let us into your vault."

"Good, 'cuz I wasn't gonna." Cid jutted his chin, arms folded.

They dripped water everywhere and this, for some reason, was funny to Vincent. Proof that he and Cid made such a feeble attempt at living a tranquil, mundane life. They were better suited for a faster paced life, clearly.

He slunk over to lean against the crates and kept his head down to hide behind his sodden hair. It would be easier to hide the tremor in his shoulders and the ugly, crooked smile on his face. Maybe it was more of a grimace.

Tseng appeared at the top of the stairs with the duffle bags containing Cid and Vincent's clothing. He kicked the scrap of wood out of the way and allowed the door to clang shut behind him.

"Ya fucks gonna explain what's goin' on anytime soon?"

"We have reason to believe the WRO is compromised," Elena answered. "By the remnants of the Luz Vuelve, who were potentially behind the attacks on your house."

Cid stood there with his mouth open, glancing between the three of them. "...What?"

Nodding, Elena continued, "Our initial plan was for Tseng to pose as Vincent while Vincent and I went and scouted out where we think they have a local base of operations. But..."

"The bomb changes nothing." Tseng dumped both duffle bags on the floor at the foot of the stairs. "The chaos caused by it provides us an ample opportunity to make the switch. Cid and I can integrate ourselves with the WRO while they're in a panic, and determine who is likely to be a mole."

"Woah, woah, no fuckin' way, I'm not hangin' out with _you_." Cid jerked his hand through the air, an abortive slicing motion. "And I sure as fuck ain't lettin' Vince go harin' off after bein' injured!"

"There is no time for debate. The WRO is calling in a bomb squad as we speak."

Cid snarled and paced towards the vault door. He opened and closed his fists and the scales on his arms rippled, climbing higher towards the hem of his sleeves. The Turks watched impassively. Vincent put his hand out to catch Cid when he paced back the other way.

"Our choices are limited, Chief."

"Like hell!"

Sighing through his nose, Vincent met that icy blue gaze gone inhuman. "This or we spend a year wondering if our enemies grow stronger while we're idle."

"...Dammit." Cid's shoulders slumped and he dropped his head back to glare at the ceiling. "This is so fuckin' stupid."

Vincent waited without saying anything.

Cid only needed a minute or two to fume. Then he gathered himself up and glowered over at the Turks. "Y'all better have some damn mana potions."

"Of course, Captain," Elena answered.

She produced a slim vial containing glowing blue liquid and held it out. Cid took it and thrust it at Vincent without looking at him. Though he would be fine with a little more time, Vincent thought it best to take his medicine without protest. It seemed to soothe some of Cid's worry. The lines of tension in his body eased, and he stopped looking quite so ready to explode.

"If you're done..." Tseng offered a set of Vincent's clothing, all practical black leathers and synthetic cotton with his spare pair of boots on top. "Then Vincent and I should change."

As Vincent accepted the clothes, Cid asked, "What 'bout the rest of us?"

"It would look peculiar if we cleaned up."

Vincent caught one of Cid's belt loops and gave a tug. Then he walked over to the vault door to let them in. The Turks stayed out in the stairwell.

Cid pushed the door shut behind him with his butt. "Ya sure this'll be okay?"

"If you can play nice."

"Won't be my fuckin' fault if that bastard--"

"Cid."

The growing crackle of energy around Cid cut off as abruptly as his words. He snapped his jaw shut with an audible click.

"Come away from those thoughts."

Cid began to pace in front of the door, back and forth, quick, stomping strides. Instead of trying to stop him, Vincent began to shed his sodden clothing. The shirt was beyond salvaging, but the rest only needed drying.

"...Fuck, I don't like this. Don't like that some rat bastards fucked everything up, don't like that some asshole set traps in our goddamn house, don't like havin' some snotty shiteater pretendin' to be ya, I don't... This is too fuckin' much, Valentine."

"It is."

"Stop bein' so damn agreeable!"

"Would you rather I egged you on?"

"No!"

Vincent gave Cid a sidelong look as he pulled on dry pants. Cid flailed a little, growling and huffing, and then came over to help him get his shirt on.

"Don't know what the hell I'm gonna do if ya don't come back in one piece." Cid yanked a little too hard on the front of the shirt, then buttoned it up in fast, jerky little motions. "So ya fuckin' better not die again."

Laying the back of his prosthetic against Cid's flushed face, Vincent said, "I'll do my best."

"...Damn well better."

Vincent leaned in to kiss the scar on Cid's temple. Somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to say, "I love you."

"Aw, fuck, don't say it _now_ , starshine, that sounds too fuckin' much like goodbye!"

"Too late."

Cid groaned and grabbed at Vincent. His fingers twisted up in Vincent's shirt, starting to pull, but he seemed to realize he was still soaking wet. With another groan, he pushed his hands behind Vincent's neck to pull him down for a bruising, hungry kiss. For once, Vincent did not push him away or chide him for being too clumsy.

When they broke apart, Cid put their foreheads together. "Come back and say it properly, ya understand?"

"Every day," Vincent promised. He ran the backs of his fingers, flesh and metal alike, against Cid's cheeks and down over his scruff. "Until the words lose meaning."

"They won't, not ever."

A rap at the door drew them apart. Cid rolled his eyes as he opened the door. On the other side, Elena stepped back with a polite smile.

Tseng, still by the stairwell, wore Vincent's clothes and cape. He kept his left arm tucked inside his shirt, the sleeve tied. His face was smeared with grime and ashes, the tilak hidden or wiped away, and his clothes were soaked through. Though his hair was shorter than Vincent's, mussing it up and wearing a bandana made it look eerily close. It also helped disguise the fact that his red contacts did not glow.

"Hell of a doppelganger," Cid muttered.

Like looking at a shadow of himself, Vincent thought.

Tseng pinched a corner of the cape between forefinger and thumb, lifted it, then left it drop. "I'll need a gun." 

Vincent itched to take his cloak back and retreat from the whole farce then and there. A hypocritical thought, when he'd all but bulled over Cid's concerns to insist the job needed doing, and so he merely inclined his head.

"Wait here."

Heading back into the vault, Vincent went in search of a suitable gun. The shelves in his armory still had plenty to offer, but few that were easily recognizable at a glance. Most were shotguns or rifles of some kind.

Everyone that knew of him also knew of Cerberus--or the idea of Cerberus, anyway. Vincent tapped his claws against the edge of a shelf as he mulled it over. None of his guns came close to Cerberus in design, but if he assumed the average person only knew of it as a heavy duty handgun...

He strode to the far corner to retrieve a spare gun holster and the appropriate gun. Outsider was smaller than Cerberus and only had one barrel, but compared to all his other handguns, it was both heavy and recognizable. It would have to do.

Vincent brought the gun out and handed it over to Tseng with only a little reluctance.

With Elena's help, Tseng strapped the holster to his leg to complete his look. He adjusted his posture, imitating Vincent's, complete with hiding the lower half of his face behind the mantle. In broad daylight, the disguise would likely fall apart. It would not fool anyone in AVALANCHE.

"It will do," Tseng said. "The plan, then."

Elena adjusted her cuffs, for what little good it did her. "Right, Vincent, we need you to wait in the vault. Give us ten minutes, then meet me one mile out, on Highway 8."

Vincent nodded.

"I will escort Captain Highwind and Mr. Valentine safely off the premises and ensure that the bomb squad is briefed before entry. Once I've ascertained that the Captain and Mr. Valentine are in good hands, I will go to join my colleague, who is chasing down leads."

"Yeah, then what?" Cid asked, tapping his foot. "Me and the doppelganger gettin' grilled?"

Tseng tipped his head down, an attempt to imitate Vincent's body language. "The most likely scenario is that they will ask us questions to which we, the distraught victims, have no answers."

"If they become suspicious, your explosive temper is your out," Elena added. "You can demand to be released for the night, and they'll have no choice but to let you go."

Cid folded his arms, cradling his elbows in his hands. "And what're y'all hopin' to glean 'fore we hit that point?"

"Sincere reactions should include shock and concern. You don't need to worry about watching anyone too closely, just be yourself like always, Captain."

"Right..." Glancing over at Vincent, Cid frowned. Then he looked back to Elena. "When ya gonna bring him back?"

"We'll try to rendezvous within twenty-four hours. Failing that..."

"The backup plan is simply to move forward with your packing and move at a speedier pace," Tseng said.

"Right. Your house is no longer safe, so it'd be better to get you away early. Vincent and I can meet you somewhere else if we take too long... Any suggestions?"

Vincent lifted a single claw. "The chocobo farm."

"Understood."

"And how fuckin' long are we gonna wait there?" Cid asked. "How long 'til we come lookin' for ya?"

Elena fidgeted with her tie, leaning her head back with her chin tucked so she could squint down at it. "Your move date was originally in six days, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Then, one day after that, if we haven't turned up."

"Is that all?" Tseng asked.

Glowing blue eyes met red. Cid nodded jerkily and tore his gaze away. His scales had faded throughout the conversation, a sign that he was calming down and accepting the change of plans, however reluctantly.

Cid pushed past Tseng and Elena, and the three of them began the climb back up the basement stairs. Vincent lingered in front of the vault until the last light from upstairs vanished with the very final sound of the door clicking shut.

He filled the long ten minute wait by cleaning Cerberus and packing extra ammunition into a pair of belt pouches to be worn at his back. Very pointedly, he refused to think about how much he loathed being separated from Cid again.


	34. been here forever

When Vincent slithered out from the vault through the vents, he soared up over the property and did a quick loop. The WRO scurried about, frantic. In their midst, Cid and his doppelganger sat on fold out chairs, nursing coffee in paper cups while Agents pried them with questions.

Satisfied that Cid was safe for the time being, Vincent flew on. He followed the meandering country road away from Rocket Town. With no way to calculate exact distance, he made his best guess and touched down in the ditch by the road, behind some thorny bushes.

Again, he regretted not having his cloak. The chill could not harm him, but it annoyed him, almost as much as the heavy weight of the pouches dragging his belts. Vincent readjusted his belts, shifting the pouches so that they rested against his hips, instead of all at one spot against his back.

He did not have to wait long. The sound of a quiet, smoothly running car engine drew closer. Its lights were dim, illuminating a bare couple feet in front of the car and no more.

Vincent stepped out onto the edge of the road to wait.

The car pulled up in front of him and Elena rolled the window down. "I can't see anything," she said. "Might have to risk our approach..."

"I begin to suspect Rude is the strongest of all of you."

"What? Oh, the sunglasses." Elena laughed, nodding. "And your friend Barret?"

Vincent flicked his claws, dismissive. "No, he runs into walls and trips all the time. It's very embarrassing to be seen in public with him."

"Oh, man... You're not a very loyal friend, are you?"

"No."

They stared at each other for a long, awkward minute. Elena coughed politely as she glanced away, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

"Okay, as Reno always says, let's get some shoes!"

Blinking, Vincent rounded the car and got in. He couldn't think of what to say to such an absurd catchphrase until after Elena got the car moving again.

"I had very nice shoes... until Tseng stole them."

"I don't think the boots you slept in for thirty years count as _nice_ ," Elena blurted. Her cheeks darkened and she ducked her head. "...Sorry. Um, I'm sure you'll get them back in one piece, and probably polished 'til they look new again."

"Or there's nothing left."

Laughing, Elena glanced over. "Are you admitting they might be due for replacement?"

"No." Vincent rested his temple against the window, watching the dark landscape slide by. Elena kept a slow pace so the engine wouldn't make as much noise. "Tseng seems the fussy type to see stains on black."

"Oh my gods, he is though! One time, he sent his suits to the drycleaners and..."

Vincent closed his eyes and let Elena's voice wash over him, her fond amusement at her coworkers' antics soothing.

How strange it was to fall into the easy habits of ragging on other members of the Turks, as if he still belonged. He wondered how different she would behave towards him, had he been able to remain a Turk. Would he be her superior, excluded from easy camaraderie?

He often wondered if anything about the decline of the Turks would have changed, had he been awake. His partner went on to lead them until just a few short years before he woke up. And then she vanished, leaving Tseng and the others to flounder alone as ShinRa collapsed.

The car slowed.

"Vincent."

He opened his eyes. The car's headlights illuminated the side of a bland cement block building set behind a double layer of chain link fence topped by barbed wire. Elena killed the engine and the lights, leaving them in total, silent darkness.

"Is this it?" Vincent asked.

"The road continues on to Rig 0003, so maybe not, but we need to check."

"Any intel on this place?"

"It's a refinery." Elena got a pair of black fingerless gloves out of her pocket, the kind that had steel studs on the knuckles. She pulled them on, one at a time. "It's supposed to be out of commission, since Rig 0003 is going dry..."

Vincent opened the car door, squinting against the light that came on. He stepped out and shut the door quickly. Then he drew his gun and popped the chamber open, though he had no need to check the ammo. A long-standing habit, better left unbroken.

On the other side of the car, Elena got out. She went to the back of the car to open the trunk. From the supplies inside, she retrieved only a small black flashlight. Its beam was narrow, barely enough for her to see by.

"Can you... sense anybody around?"

Snapping the chamber back in place, Vincent rested the gun against his shoulder. He cast his senses outwards. The building before them was devoid of life, but he felt the pulse of life further out, behind the massive drums and spires of the refinery. Humans, rife with mako.

"They're here."

"How many?"

"Maybe six. Be on your guard, they're enhanced."

"Has to be them, then." Elena lifted her arm to make her sleeve fall back. Underneath, she wore a thin silver bangle, slotted with materia. She nodded, satisfied, then faced Vincent. "Can you take point?"

"Alright."

With Elena's light bobbing at his heels, Vincent set off around the building. He moved fast and low, skirting the outside of the fence.

On the far side of the complex, the fence abruptly ended. A large section of it had been removed, wide enough for two buggies to fit through. Vincent paused there, glancing back at Elena. She covered the end of her flashlight with her hand.

"Wait here."

"I'm not going to let you do this _alone_ \--" Elena hissed.

"No, I'm only going to scout."

Elena clicked her tongue, but nodded. "Two minutes, then I'm following in."

He wouldn't need that long, but he said, "Understood," all the same.

Instead of wisping, Vincent strode into the compound as he was. He followed the line of the fence to the right, then veered out into the open to duck behind one of the large pipes running between storage tanks. Next, he darted over to one of the tanks, keeping close to the curved siding.

On the other side, nestled between cold smoke stacks and pipes, he found a small shed with a bare blue bulb hanging over the door. Vincent hung back from the light, once more casting his senses outwards. One person sat inside the shed at ground level. The others seemed to be belowground.

All but one, who sat at the top of a nearby storage tank. Vincent crept around to get a closer look. He heard the tinny sound of a radio or a television, saw the faint flicker of light that meant the guard was preoccupied.

It felt like a trap.

But not one he would deal with alone. Vincent retraced his steps, unnoticed by the distracted watchguard.

Elena waited in a crouch by the fence, her flashlight off. She tensed, ready to spring up, fist first. Vincent admired her ability to remain calm despite her handicap.

"It's me," he said.

Exhaling, Elena released some of the tension in her body. "What did you find?"

"One distracted guard, near a shack. One person inside, and the others in the basement."

"Sounds a little easy..."

"Yes."

"They've lost a lot of people in that failed attack." Elena stood and brushed her slacks off, completely missing most of the grass clinging to them. "Strange, to not pull out, with so few left... Do you think there might be something here they want?"

"Or they're waiting for something."

"...From their contacts within the WRO," Elena finished. "We'll need them alive to get answers."

"All of them?"

"At least two, I think."

"Understood." Vincent rubbed his thumb back and forth against the side of his gun's grip. "Your flashlight will give us away."

"You said there was one on watch?"

"Yes. Give me fifteen seconds, then follow. About a hundred paces in, follow the pipeline to the center. Be ready to ambush."

"Got it."

"Start," Vincent said.

Then he threw himself to pieces and whirled through the air, a dark blur in the night. Before two seconds passed, he touched down atop the storage tank, right behind the guard. A tiny black and white television with a rabbit eared antenna sat atop a wobbly crate, playing some sitcom. The guard sipped beer, oblivious to the red-eyed demon that stood behind them.

Vincent _could_ have blown their brains out then and there. It would have been so easy, and the spray of gore and blood splattering against the television would have been a pleasure.

But it put their operation at risk.

Instead, Vincent bent to hook his left arm around the guard's neck. He squeezed to cut off their air and fought off the urge to twist and their thrashing. They kicked the television off the crate; the screen cracked and went dark with a spray of sparks.

The full fifteen seconds and then some went by before the guard went limp. Vincent dropped them and leaned over the edge of the storage tank. Below, Elena crouched against the wall of the shack, next to the door.

No one came out of the shack to investigate.

Vincent crouched over the unconscious guard and searched them. He found a walkie-talkie in one of their coat pockets. While he was at it, he relieved them of their bangle full of materia and their knives. The latter, he kicked over the edge of the tank. They hit the pipes below, clanking.

The noise garnered some attention--the walkie-talkie crackled to life, obnoxiously loud. "Everything okay out there?"

Elena made a slashing gesture with her hand. It sort of looked like she did it in front of her neck. Shrugging, Vincent dropped the walkie-talkie and stomped down on it. The thing broke into so many pieces with one last crackle and spark. He applied too much pressure and dented the top of the storage tank; the noise echoed down through it.

The shack door swung open. The woman that stepped out never stood a chance. Elena surged up, swinging her fist into the woman's chin. Vincent heard the hit from where he was. The woman went down without a sound, dazed, and Elena activated one of her materia to blanket the semi-conscious enemy in yellow lights.

Vincent hopped down and walked over. He glanced inside the shack, but found no one else inside. A pair of rickety fold out chairs and a table sat near a trap door. A book lay face down on the table, next to a few opened cans of beer and a battered radio, the volume set low. It played the local radio station from Rocket Town, blatting some old rockabilly between the gentle murmur of the host talking gossip and news.

"Why'd you break it?" Elena hissed. "We might've used it..."

"Looked like you said kill it."

Blinking, Elena tilted her head. "...Oh. I forgot, you're not up to date."

"Thirty years," Vincent reminded, voice flat.

"Right, right, um... You said there's more downstairs?"

Vincent entered the shack, stepping half out of reality so that he made no sound. He drifted towards the trap door and crouched to study it. Behind him, Elena stayed near the door, her hand on the frame as she leaned in to look around.

The door had no locks, nor any trace of materia. It was, as far as Vincent could tell, an ordinary trap door, now unguarded. He frowned over it, struck again by how easy everything seemed.

He grabbed the handle with his claws and glanced back at Elena. Wordless, he hefted his gun, then threw the door open. It groaned and clanked, explosively loud, and far below, he heard startled shouts, echoing.

Vincent dropped in, forgoing the ladder. He landed in a crouch at the bottom and swung his gun left, then right.

Ahead of him lay a roughly hewn tunnel, lit only by a few scattered oil lanterns sitting on the ground new the walls. The lights flickered and sputtered. It smelled strange, too, some earthy, nauseating scent that stuffed up Vincent's sinuses and made his temple begin to pound.

Glowing green eyes appeared at the far side. They belonged to a huge man in a bullet proof vest and helmet; he advanced slowly with a riot shield held in front of him. He held a short sword in his other hand, though Vincent couldn't tell if it had any materia.

Vincent lifted his gun, finger settling on the trigger.

"I wouldn't do that," the man called, and then chortled. "Oil and gas everywhere..."

Above, Elena's footsteps clacked across the floorboards. She shone her flashlight down through the trapdoor. "Vincent, clear?"

"No, get out of here!"

The man slowed to a stop about fifteen feet away and set his feet apart. "Gonna squash you both."

Laughing, he raised his sword, and in the hilt, green materia flashed. All around him, the earth began to tremble. Bits of dirt crumbled away from the walls and ceiling as it cracked apart. The wood overhead groaned and creaked, beginning to splinter.

Elena shouted, losing her balance. Vincent heard her hit the floor and quickly glanced up to make sure she hadn't fallen through the hole. She hadn't, though her arm hung limply down.

With no other choice before him, Vincent threw himself to pieces and surged down the tunnel. He could not shoot, could not risk any spark.

The black cloud flowed around the man's shield and over him. He screamed as it pushed into his mouth, his nose, his eyes, and his ears. It burned through his veins, blocking the flow. The strength went out of him as his body went into cardiac arrest and he collapsed.

The earth went still. Silence filled the tunnel up, but for the sputter of the lanterns, somehow undisturbed by the quake.

The black cloud tore his way out of the man's mouth and spilled out onto the floor. It became solid again, Vincent on all fours and gasping. With a shudder, he sat up and clutched at his upper arms, convinced that the walls closed in on him, that his body was dying as he remained fully aware and unable to act.

Blankly, he stared through the dead body next to him, his thoughts too scattered to process it.

Little by little, the panic faded. Vincent reached with trembling fingers to touch the corpse's neck. No pulse. He'd done that, choked the life out of him from the inside.

He hoped Cid never found out what an inhuman monster he was.

Vincent stood and slowly picked his way back over to the ladder. He looked back down the tunnel, but heard and saw nothing. The other three he'd sensed earlier were still down at the end, unmoving. Waiting.

They could wait a little longer.

Climbing up, Vincent nudged Elena's arm back up onto the first floor. She bled from her temple, struck by falling pieces of the roof. Gently, Vincent rolled her onto her back and bent to listen to her breathing. Steady, with no hitches.

He hefted his gun, thumbing the cure materia in the grip. Because he couldn't be certain the extent of her injury, Vincent channeled as much energy as he dared into the spell.

Glittering rainbow lights drifted down over her body. The bruising faded, the cut closed, and Elena gasped, jolting awake. She rolled away, eyes wide, and flicked her wrist to make a knife appear.

Vincent held his metal hand and gun up in surrender. "Alright?"

Elena searched his face, panic and confusion giving away bit by bit. She nodded and sat up, wincing. "Oof, what hit me?"

"The roof."

"Damn."

Elena glanced up, at the new holes in the ceiling. Then she looked down, taking in all the devastation. The floor had new cracks and holes in it, the windows shattered. The north wall looked ready to collapse.

"You took care of it?" she asked.

"Yes. Three more remain."

Nodding, but slightly, Elena patted at herself. "If we have time to regroup, I can continue..."

"I don't think they're going anywhere. Might be cornered."

"Okay."

Elena produced a packet of purple gel pills and popped two out with a crackle of foil. She palmed them, then brought them to her mouth, throwing her head back to swallow them dry. The rest of the packet was returned to her pocket.

"Sorry," she said. "That was careless of me."

Vincent did not say _no_ , and did not offer reassurances. They'd both been careless and lucky nothing worse happened. He shifted around to face the trap door, resting his gun against his knee.

"Oil down there. Gas, too."

"Yeah? Makes sense. Might be some seepage, or run off from the natural wells, from before Rocket Town started drilling..." Elena started emptying her pockets. She had a string of grenades and smoke bombs secured to her belt and a handgun beneath her jacket. The latter, she removed the clip from. "Better play it safe, I guess."

"Hn."

"I'm gonna hide these outside. Do you want me to take anything for you?"

Vincent opened the chamber of his gun and removed the bullets one at a time. Then he popped the fire materia out of the grip, knowing all too well that he might cast it instinctively. He unlatched the ammunition pouches from his belt, then passed both and the materia over to Elena.

"Don't go far," he said.

"I won't."

Elena gathered everything up, then picked her way out of the shack. She stepped over the unconscious woman outside, then vanished into the dark.

Vincent holstered his gun; he could cast the materia still slotted in it whether he held it or not, so long as it was near. Not being able to shoot was going to be troublesome, however.

Flexing his claws, he watched the trapdoor and strained his senses outwards, feeling out the natural flows of lifestream. Down below, their three remaining targets still had not moved. Energy gathered around them, building.

"...Damn." Vincent stood, prepared to jump back down into the tunnel. "Elena!"

She came running. "Yeah?"

"They're going to cast something, soon."

"No! They can't!" Elena jumped over a crack in the floor as she raced over to join Vincent near the trap door. "If there's seepage, then it could be connected to the reservoirs scattered around here. They could blow everything up!"

"How far?

"The oil fields are about thirty square miles, but that's not the worst of it. Surveys suggested oil under Rocket Town, running all the way through to Nibelheim. It might even go as far as Corel, or Cosmo Canyon..."

"Not places that need more tragedy."

"Right, so--"

"You should evacuate the captives. If I fail..."

"No way! We're Turks, we stick together." Elena raised her fist and tugged at her glove. "So, let's go put a stop to this, no matter what!"

Vincent looked at her, and wondered that she never fell in with AVALANCHE. She possessed the same pigheaded stubbornness that drove them to save the world, time and time again.

"Fine," he said. "But you're doing the paperwork, if we survive."

Her giddy laughter followed him down into the tunnel.


	35. the frozen proof

At the end of the tunnel, a plain wooden door stood between them and the surge of energy. Swirling green light shone between the boards, blindingly bright. Vincent squinted his eyes against it as he reached for the handle.

Before opening it, he checked that Elena was right behind him. She met his gaze with a nod. Though she sheltered in his shadow, she had her fists up, feet spread, ready to meet any danger head on.

Vincent threw the door open. It swung and slammed into the wall hard enough to crack and pop off the top hinges. As it listed back, Vincent strode through the doorway, claws raised.

He stood on a rusty metal walkway, overlooking a wide cavern with numerous tunnels along the walls. The only way down was a badly dented ladder to the left, or to jump down.

Below, the lifestream swirled upwards around a huge chunk of red materia jutting out of the ground. Three figures stood in a loose triangle around it. As Vincent looked on, the two figures at either side of the materia fell forward, unconscious.

The woman at the back had her arms upraised. On seeing Vincent and Elena, she screamed, "You!" and something Other shrieked beneath her voice, awful and high pitched.

Vincent clutched at the railing, assaulted by the weight of the presence behind the woman. It clawed at the inside of his skull, scraped down his spine. The back of his mouth tasted sour and despite the sheer amount of heat generated by the lifestream, he felt as though he stood in the middle of the Great Glacier, freezing over with every breath.

He lifted his gaze, and through the vortex of energy, he met the woman's cat green eyes. Her pupils narrowed down to thin slits. She peeled her lips back, showing too many teeth. Her body trembled, flesh rippling and warping in ways it shouldn't.

"You took my boys!" she cried, but what he understood was _my host_.

Vincent knew her, remembered chasing her from the ashes of his cabin, up into the mountains. He remembered the taste of her boys' blood, the smell of their innards turned out on the street. She led him on a merry chase up to where the reactor once stood and she lived only by the grace of Vincent's better half.

Because of her, Vincent killed the one he valued most. Because of her, Cid was damned to live as a monster forever more. The rage still simmered there beneath his skin, needing only the reminder to stir it up.

"Serafina..."

And he thought he knew the Other, the thing riding her and watching with cat green eyes. That thing destroyed more lives than could be counted.

Vincent launched himself from the platform and landed at the edge of the vortex of energy. He thrust his hand and claws into it and pushed them apart, as if the energy were a solid mass. It split wide enough that he could slip through.

Distantly, he heard Elena shout, and her footsteps clattered on the platform and then the ladder as she followed him down.

The woman with the cat green eyes threw her arms downwards. A high pitched ringing filled the cavern, echoing. The energy from the lifestream shot upwards, whirled against the ceiling, then crashed back down, flowing into the materia chunk until none remained. The materia radiated a blinding, bloody red light that filled the cavern.

"Come, Ifrit, lord of fire!"

Vincent rushed at the woman, but as he moved, it began to feel as though he waded through molasses. Some invisible force pulled at him. It yanked all his pieces apart, dissolving him into the smallest atoms even as he fought against it, claws outstretched towards the woman's face.

He was dragged back and around in a spiral, inevitably drawn to the materia chunk. At its base, his parts were forcibly rearranged.

Shadowy purple energy surged up to meet him as he became solid, and the beast's form pushed its way out from beneath his skin. Over the crackle of bones snapping and rearranging, his flesh swelled until he was double in size, larger than he'd ever been. Agony took shape in the form of claws and horns and teeth and spines pushing their way out. Blood and flesh fell away in spatters as he threw his head back, howling.

The energy dissipated and it was not Ifrit that stood before the summoner but the Galian Beast, huge and furious with fire sparking in his maw.

"You... why do _you_ bear the crown of fire!?"

Vincent shook himself out, flinging off the last bloody scraps of his human form, and stalked towards her. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash the flames she so desired.

"Vincent!" Elena cried. "No fire, not here!"

He snapped his mouth shut and swung his head towards Elena, ears up. She stayed near the ladder, shoulders hunched. Her whole body vibrated with tension, and he could smell the anxious fear radiating off her.

The woman pointed towards Elena. "Kill her!"

As before, some invisible force pulled at Vincent, trying to drag him through the motions. He growled and dropped down to all fours, digging his claws into the roughly hewn floor. He refused to be budged, to be puppeted along.

The thing he focused on was Elena's suit, darker blue than the one he once wore, a lifetime ago. They were two of a kind. She trusted him to have her back, just as he trusted her. He'd not repay her with violence.

"Move, beast, I _summoned_ you!"

Vincent bared his teeth as he twisted around to face the woman again.

One did not summon the forces of nature and expect them to obey without question. Those paltry imitations of deities called forth by summon materia were little more than shadows of the real things.

He was no mere shadow. He was the last living WEAPON, Chaos made flesh. Only the planet's voice Herself had any sway over him.

Vincent let out another furious howl and lunged up to his feet. He threw himself against the invisible chains dragging him down, fought his way towards the summoner one step at a time. With each hard won step, he felt the power over him give like strings snapping one by one.

She staggered back, away from him. "Stay away from me!"

Again, that power pushed back at him, but weakly. Vincent lowered his head and plowed through it, growling with the effort.

She did not wait for him to come. Instead, she flung her arms outwards, and the high pitched ringing starting up again. Her flesh rippled and the bones in her arms became soft and floppy as they lengthened and lost definition. The newly formed tentacles shot out and curled around the unconscious bodies lying at either side of the materia formation.

On contact, the bodies began to convulse. Bones cracked as limbs twisted out of place. Their backs ballooned outwards, then split apart as a mass of bloodied tendrils poured out. The tendrils stretched out to cover limbs, looking like a warped facsimile of muscles.

Their eyes shot open, revealing cat green. The creatures rose up unsteadily onto four legs, jaws lolling. They looked like some horrible cross between man and dog, lacking fur and flesh. Growling, they lurched forward to put themselves between Vincent and their master.

The woman withdrew her tentacles and fled towards one of the tunnels. Something about the way she moved was too fluid, too fast, bones and limbs no longer quite as rigid as they should be.

Elena ran to the left, following the wall, then veered off to give chase. "I'm going after her!"

The desperate need to shout after Elena, to make her stop, came out in an aborted snarl. Vincent darted after her but the creatures cut him off. He tossed his head, drove them back a step or two with the sharp points of his horns.

The creature on the left gave a full body shudder. Its head rolled to one side, the tendrils encasing its limbs quivering and beginning to unfurl. Rather than waiting to see what would happen, Vincent lashed out, claws first. He never made contact.

The other creature barreled into his side, head first. He staggered under the impact and twisted around to claw at its back. They went down in a thrashing heap together, clawing and biting one another.

While he fought the one off, the other flexed all its tendrils outwards. The dozens of the tiny little things shot outwards and latched onto his tail, legs, and arms, stinging like nettles. He roared and kicked, both to throw the creature pinning him away and to try and get loose from the tendrils.

An eerie buzzing filled the air, the only warning he got before his whole body went rigid with shock, thousands of volts of electricity screaming through his nerves. His vision sparked and faded to white. His head filled with a dull, staticky roar, not unlike the waterfall outside Lucrecia's cave.

Empty now, he thought, still as giddy over it as though it happened only yesterday. She would never again be trapped behind crystal and water. He could see her smiling face whenever he wanted...

If only he could move.

The two creatures piled on top of him, their claws like knives sawing through his hide, and he could do nothing but lay there in numb shock. The pain and hot rush of blood seemed distant, unrelated to him.

That invisible power held him again, pinning him as surely as the creatures did. It began to pick his pieces apart, to draw him towards the materia.

The cloying scent of lilies surrounded him. With it, a sense of calm washed away all the pain and discomfort. He felt as though he floated on clouds, instead of laying in mud created by his own blood. What should have been a relief, freedom from his suffering, instead filled him with dread.

If he chased that bliss, he might never come back from it. He might...

_Cid._

Vincent kicked out, catching one of the creatures in the gut. It went flying and crashed into the rocks holding the materia cluster up. As its back broke, the rocks crumbled. The materia tipped over and fell onto the creature's head, crushing it with a wet splorch.

Meanwhile, Vincent rolled and struggled with the other creature. He bit at the tendrils still wrapped around himself, tearing them to pieces.

The creature shrieked and went for his throat. His thick mane gave it trouble, just enough to buy him the time he needed. He jammed his claws beneath its jawline, hooked, and twisted them hard to the left. The creature's neck snapped.

It fell limp, all but the tendrils, which continued to flap about wildly.

Exhausted and still feeling the effects of the materia, Vincent shoved the body off. He climbed to his feet, swaying. The huge chunk of materia continued to glow, but intermittently. It tugged at him, calling him back.

He limped over to pick it up, cradling it in his claws. It burned to touch, like shoving his hand into lava. His flesh sloughed away, finger and wrist bones exposed first, then arm and elbow. Pain upon pain upon more pain.

Vincent raised the materia above his head, then brought it sharply down, smashing it against the ground. It broke into dozens of fractured pieces and the light winked out, releasing him from its hold.

Gasping, he sank to his knees as his body shrank back down. The monster left the man to deal with the consequences, as always.

His vision went dark, sparking with the threat of going entirely. Vincent struggled to stay upright, to stay conscious, though why he fought it eluded him. His thoughts slowed to a dull, numb crawl, disjointed and scattered. He became little more than his exhaustion and his pain and that ever present misery that crept up and choked the breath out of him.

His mother's voice whispered, _"Ifrit, crowned in fire."_

Vincent jerked his head up. He looked wildly around the cavern, but nothing moved. Not even a tendril twitch. He was alone, in a dimly lit cave, and only the barest recollection of how he got there or--

"Elena," he croaked.

He remembered now, that she ran off ahead, her sights fixed solely on their target. Like a true Turk, she operated under the assumption that the mission came before their lives. Maybe she thought he could handle himself. Normally, he'd agree with her assessment, but without bullets or fire, and at the mercy of that summoning, he'd been lucky to survive.

Tentatively, Vincent felt out all the raw, bloody wounds along his right side. They ran all up his back at an angle. He hissed when his fingers brushed a particularly tender spot.

He dropped his hand against his gun holster, drawing upon the materia slotted in the grip. One cure alone was not enough, so he cast two back to back, though it made his head swim to expend such energy so soon after the fight. It kickstarted his body's unnatural rate of recovery, sealed up all the bloody holes. He still hurt all over, a deep, weary bone ache that would follow him for days, but the risk of bleeding out was dealt with.

Vincent lurched up to his feet. He sucked in a breath, then let it go, long and slow. Three more times, and he felt a little less ragged.

He could not remember which of the tunnels Elena went down. Frowning, he crossed the cavern to stand near the central entrances.

Away from the reek of blood, he picked up faint traces of something that made his skin crawl. Almost coppery, but far colder, with a sting to it. Tears welled up and slipped from his eyes, unbidden. Annoyed, Vincent swiped the back of his hand against his eyes.

The stench clouding his senses was from the corrupt thing lurking in the planet's heart, eating away at it. No matter how humanity struggled against it, Jenova always seemed to come back. No more. He would not rest until all traces of the thing were eradicated.

As best he could with his sinuses rebelling, Vincent followed his nose down one of the tunnels. The narrow tunnel twisted back and forth and gradually ascended. No one had bothered with the courtesy of lanterns to light the way. The total lack of light meant that even he, monster that he was, could see nothing.

Beneath the stench of his prey, he picked up hints of Elena's soap. He didn't know what it was called, only that it was some chemical combination meant to imitate the smell of fresh rain. It fell short, to his enhanced sense of smell, but he wouldn't lose track of her.

The tunnel widened out and the gradual incline became sharp. Vincent felt his way along the wall to his right and found that the path ahead forked. While Elena's scent went down the left, Serafina and her otherworldly passenger seemed to go both ways.

That made no sense, unless--

Vincent hurried after Elena, keeping his fingertips against the wall. His heart climbed up into the back of his throat, an uncomfortable knot that seemed to skip every other beat. He hoped his instincts were wrong, but they rarely were.

The smell of blood hit him just before the owner of cat green eyes did. Serafina moved so quick that not even he could react fast enough. She slammed into him shoulder first, sent him flying against a wall, and then blazed past, leaving twin streaks of green light from her eyes in her wake.

Jumping back to his feet, Vincent swung around to face direction she'd gone. She did not come back. He longed to give chase. Needed to, really, the instincts of beast and WEAPON alike buzzing through him.

He took half a step after her, and then jerked to a stop. Elena groaned softly somewhere further down the tunnel.

For all his years of existence, he'd been a human and a Turk for longer than he had a monster or a WEAPON. Though it wasn't easy, he made himself turn back. One day, he might not be able to override instinct. One day, he might have far less attachment to the world and the people in it. One day, but not this one.

"Elena."

"...Vincent." Her voice sounded wet and raspy.

"How badly are you hurt?"

Elena chortled, more of a croak than a laugh. "Not so... bad."

Vincent followed the sound of her voice and her breathing. He could not rely on his nose, not with the stink of Jenova everywhere, and beneath that blood everywhere.

His foot skidded in a thick puddle and the toe of his boot hit something small. It clattered away a few inches. Kneeling, he felt around for it. The flashlight, with the glass at the end busted.

Vincent tapped it against the palm of his prosthetic as he tried the button. He squinted against the sudden flicker of light, weak but steady, until his eyes adjusted.

Elena lay on her side a few feet away, in a pool of blood. A large, ragged gash ran diagonally from her right shoulder down and around over her left hip. Vincent hurried over to kneel beside her and found that she clutched at her belly to try and stop the blood flow from a puncture wound.

"Ah, damn."

Vincent set the flashlight down, getting blood on the lower half of the lens. It cast everything in an eerie red, not unlike the materia had.

Feeling as though he watched from outside himself, Vincent used his claws to cut her jacket and shirt away, leaving the ruined remains of her bra for some facsimile of decency. He peeled the cloth from her skin. That done, he cast a Curaga over her, just to slow the bleeding.

"Do you have potions, still?"

Elena gave the barest of nods. "Uh, inner jacket."

Vincent rifled through the scraps of her jacket and found not only a small kit of potions, but a miniature first aid kit. He laid them out on his thigh, selected a potion, and helped Elena sit up just enough to drink it. She coughed, wincing, and clutched tighter at her belly.

After that, he dug out a bottle of peroxide and cleaned the wounds. Unless he wanted to expend all his energy, Elena would need stitches. Vincent got a needle and thread from the kit and set to work stitching her up. Now and then, he cast weak cures to keep her stable. Elena lost consciousness somewhere between the third and forth cast. Vincent continued to work, determined to put her back together.

The back of his neck crawled, and he kept glancing around, expecting to find Serafina lurking, but she never came back. Gone, like any chance of getting answers that night.


	36. could scream forever

As soon as Vincent finished treating Elena, he hauled her up onto his back piggyback style and began the slow trek further down the tunnel. He did not want to go back lest they run into Serafina and more of her monsters.

The dull beam of the flashlight bobbed along the walls; he clutched it in his claws though it did little but make him nightblind. Gradually, it faded. The bulb went out with a soft fizzle and left him in total darkness.

Still Vincent walked on. His mind played tricks on him the longer he was trapped in that place with nothing but the echo of his own footfalls and Elena's slow breaths tickling his neck. More than once, he thought he heard something behind, but each time he stopped to listen, there was nothing. Nothing and more nothing, long and drawn out and silent and horrible.

It seemed strange to him that the tunnel kept going up. They couldn't be that far below the surface, having only gone down one short ladder. Perhaps his sense of direction was in shambles, too.

After a long time, he realized that there was light ahead, faint though it was. Vincent picked up the pace. The tunnel curved to the right, and there at last, a cave opening that led out to a ledge overlooking a reservoir. Vincent stepped out of the tunnel and turned his face up towards the beginnings of a gloomy gray dawn. The water below sat deep and dark and still.

They were in the cliffs outside of Rocket Town, almost entirely the other direction from Rig 0003. If he looked further south, he would see the spiny silhouette of Mt. Nibel.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so strange to find Jenova lurking nearby. She always seemed to come back to the mountains, though she'd spent more time in the Northern Crater. Vincent ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth, and wondered what drew her there.

Something to be concerned about later, he decided. Later, when he did not have a friend unconscious against his back. Later, when his family wasn't in the vicinity to be preyed upon. Later.

Vincent gathered Elena closer, then unraveled them both, flowing along the wavy, unseen streams of lifestream that converged on Rocket Town. It felt good to fly so quick after a long night of trudging through the dark. He did a few needless loop-de-loops, reveling in his freedom, and touched down in Shera's back yard.

Separating from Elena proved to be difficult, but not impossible. He laid her out on the grass carefully, and frowned over the urge to get a fruity drink and take a really _long_ bubble bath. With candles that smelled like far away places untouched by mankind. Vincent wrinkled his nose. Not his impulse, and potentially more than he ever wanted to know about what Elena did during her downtime.

He hoped she did not suffer any of his nightmares. Vincent touched the back of his prosthetic to her forehead but she did not react. Out cold, oblivious of the wet dew soaking through the remains of her clothing.

When Elena came to, she would be upset that they accomplished so little. His fault, Vincent felt. That summon materia and the pull it had on him distracted him from the mission at hand. He should have easily defeated his foes and caught up with Elena in plenty of time to stop Serafina.

Or, at the very least, he should have gone back to collect their captives. He doubted they were still there. Serafina probably ran off with them _and_ Elena's car.

No use dwelling on regrets now. Vincent stood and went to the back door. It was locked, and early enough that no one answered when he knocked.

Sighing, he let just his hand become incorporeal and fed it through the keyhole. It hurt to become partially solid again, like ripping chunks of bone out and shoving it back in the wrong way. He held it long enough to manipulate the locks, but it was less effort than getting his entire body through the tiny hole.

He pulled his hand back out, leaving a dribble of blood leaking from the keyhole, and opened the door. All quiet inside, but for the steady rumble of the fridge and the central air. No muted murmur of the television to suggest someone had a sleepless night. He hoped it had been a peaceful night for his family.

Vincent turned back to pick Elena up and carried her inside. He brought her to the couch and laid her out, arranging the pillows to prop her on her side so that she did not put too much weight on either wound. It would take a more skilled healer than him to treat her. Lucrecia, maybe.

Shedding his boots at the bottom of the stairs, he headed up, walking on his tiptoes as if he needed to reduce the noise he made by such mundane means. He walked half out of reality, a ghost haunting a familiar home.

The door to the guest bedroom stood ajar. Vincent peered in and found the bed empty and made up. Panic blossomed like fireworks in his chest. He whirled the other way and found Shera's and Lucrecia's rooms empty, as well.

His first instinct was to throw himself out the nearest window, to fly off into the glow of the sunrise and not rest until he found them. The second was to go back to his house to retrieve ammunition for his gun and to hunt down anyone or anything that might have kept his family from coming home.

The third, which was the one to win out, was to walk calmly back downstairs and go into the kitchen, to the old corded phone hanging on the wall near the fridge. Vincent picked up the headset and rested it against his shoulder, listening to the droning dial tone without the faintest clue who or what to call. Or why he needed the corded phone, when his own was in one of his pockets.

His gaze was drawn to a piece of paper pinned to the fridge by the silly astronaut pig magnet. It said, _Call_ and listed Shera's number.

So he did the reasonable thing and called her.

It did not finish the first ring before she answered with a sleepy, breathless, "Hello?"

"Shera."

"Oh! Are you safe?"

"Safe enough." Vincent glanced towards the living room, though he couldn't see Elena from where he was. His gaze wandered towards the windows. He saw nothing out of the ordinary through the blinds and curtains. "Where are you?"

"The WRO took us into protective custody." Shera's voice dropped. "I'm not sure where."

"Against your will?" Vincent asked.

"Until it's safe."

Which meant that while the WRO may have asked for their cooperation, they were being held until further notice. Vincent rubbed his prosthetic foreclaw against the thumb, scraping the edges of the sharp metal together as if to light a spark. He stared somewhere off to the left, unseeing.

And who, he wondered, benefited from protective custody? Certainly not Cid, who'd only just attained partial freedom, nor Lucrecia, who could look after herself even if Vincent still fought that long standing urge to protect her from all things.

Lips thinning out, Vincent indulged in a sour thought--was it Shera's safety that kept them cooperative?

What he wanted to ask next was, _where are they keeping Cid,_ but instead, what came out of his mouth was, "And Vincent?"

It felt strange to ask after himself, though what he meant was Tseng and the mission. The promise to keep Cid safe.

"I think they noticed he's not acting like himself," Shera said. "Listen, I'm not supposed to have a phone. I need to go."

"Describe your surroundings."

"No, listen, Vincent said to get your fortune told."

"Shera--"

"Sorry."

The click of the call ending, and then he was left with the discordant, repetitive buzz of the phone off the hook. Vincent clutched the handset until the plastic creaked in his grip. Then he set it oh, so carefully back in its cradle.

He walked on stiff legs out the back door, barefoot still, and stood out in the wet, damp grass with his face upturned to the pink and gold sky until the inferno of his fury and despair and burned itself out.

Calm tasted like ashes, felt like his limbs trembled with exhaustion.

Vincent lowered his head, wryly musing that it _had_ been a long day, full of twists and awful turns. It should have began and ended with familiar warmth and a heartbeat under his palm. That niggling voice of self-loathing, always so eager to make itself known, whispered that he did not deserve such a thing. He shoved it down deep as he strode back into the house.

Shera told him to get his fortune read. Not a particularly clever metaphor, but perhaps confusing enough for listeners not in the know.

Only one man could tell him his fortune on such short notice.

Vincent returned to the phone and paused, unable to remember which number Reeve used now. He fished his cellphone out of his pocket and after a few false starts, managed to navigate to his contacts list. Reeve's latest number had a trio of little stars next to it, a needless flourish added by his robotic alter ego.

He could have tapped that number and dialed from his cell, but it seemed prudent to use a land line. Vincent picked up the headset and dialed, listening to each button's tone before pressing the next. The line rang, and rang, and rang, and Reeve did not answer.

Sighing, with a faint eyeroll, Vincent hung up to wait. That was the ritual, after all. They called the most important man in the world and he got back to them at his leisure. The only reason Vincent ever tolerated it was because Reeve's leisure usually took no longer than a couple minutes at most.

A little over five minutes later, the phone rang. Vincent heard Elena grunt, and then let out a long, drawn out groan after she started awake. He ignored it in favor of answering the phone, trusting that she wouldn't overexert herself.

"Hello, may I ask who I am speaking to?" Reeve asked, all stiff, cool politeness. He probably knew it was Shera's home number. Maybe he also knew Shera wasn't home.

"I need my fortune told."

"Oh!" Reeve exhaled. "It's you, my friend. Your fortune--? Is everything alright?"

"Do you know?"

"Know what?"

"What's happened here, why Ss... Shera isn't home."

"I've been told there's been a complication, but everything's under control. She and her family are safe, and will be escorted home in the morning."

"Sounds naive," Vincent said.

He tapped his claws against the back of the headset, looking out to the living room. Elena managed to sit up and watched him over the back of the couch.

Reeve cleared his throat. "Do you know something I don't?"

"The complications run deeper than you know, with lights to lead astray."

Silence from the other end, and then, a very soft, "Damn. Listen, I'll look into it. Are you going to stay there?"

Vincent shifted the headset against his shoulder, face down. "Elena. Do we stay here?"

"I don't... I don't know the situation," she answered, voice raspy. "Isn't this Dr. Hanlon's house? Has it been compromised?"

"No, but they've all been taken into the WRO's custody."

"Custody... And the Commissioner?"

"Clueless, as usual."

Vincent heard a muffled, _hey!_ from the line. He didn't bother responding to it.

"We should go. Just in case. They might check here, and I'm not..." Elena's head dropped forward, her hair falling into her face. "I don't think I can provide backup. Sorry."

"Alright." Vincent set the phone against his ear. "We're going somewhere else. You have my number."

"Stay safe, friend."

"And you."

Just as Vincent started to hang up, Reeve said, "Oh, wait, your fortune! Here--"

The humming chime of Cait Sith generating one played over the line. Then the cat's voice: "Do not seek to find the answer as much as understand the question better. Your lucky color is blue, and your numbers are 36, 43, 02."

Though it meant little and less to Vincent, he nonetheless nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, pal! Good luck out there!"

Vincent hung up, then crossed the room to stand behind the couch. He rested the tips of his fingers there as he looked down at Elena.

"Shower upstairs."

"...Yeah, I could use one." Elena smiled weakly and scooted off of the couch. Her balance was wobbly, and she held her arms tight against her middle. "But I don't have any spare clothes."

"Shera and Lucrecia won't mind."

"Okay. Will you... help me?"

"If I must."

With Vincent's help, Elena made it up the stairs and into the tub. He left her there while he went in search of something suitable to wear.

Lucrecia's closet favored too many skirts and dresses, always frilly and lacy. Vincent didn't even look any further than a quick glance, feeling ashamed at even that much.

The formal outfits in Shera's wardrobe were not a good cut for Elena's injuries. That left Shera's casual wear, consisting mostly of pants and sweaters. She was a much larger woman than Elena. Vincent had to dig through the very back to find some older clothing for anything remotely Elena's size.

Vincent knocked on the bathroom door, and when Elena called out, "Yeah?" he opened it just wide enough to set the clothes on the counter.

Then he went to the guest room he shared with Cid to get some spare ammunition from his bag while he waited. He regretted taking most of his ammo with him on the mission and leaving it behind. All that remained were enough for two reloads. He would need to send for more when he got a chance.

Probably he should make more of an effort to assist Elena with her bathing, but while they were cordial, Vincent didn't think they were close enough for him to invade her privacy like that. Bad enough that he'd seen her at her weakest, necessity or not.

Anyway, she was a full-fledged Turk, and she did not need him babying her.

Much later, Elena wobbled out of the bathroom, clean but haggard-looking. Her damp hair hung in loose curls around her face, not perfectly styled as usual. "Vincent?"

"I'm here." He stepped out into the hall. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, but... Where will we go?"

"Somewhere nearby."

Vincent held his hand out to her. She looked at it, then nodded and crossed the hall to to take it. As soon as they touched, Vincent swept them both away and down the stairs. They could have walked, but Elena looked ready to pass out at any moment. He felt her exhaustion echo his own.

On the way towards the door, he snagged their shoes, pulling them into the intangible cloud. Then he pushed against the door, and it swung open, letting them out into the morning sunlight.

As they rose up into the air like a black cloud, Vincent saw a shiny blue car coming from his house. It pulled into Shera's driveway. A pair of WRO Agents got out, speaking quietly, and went inside.

A good thing then, that he and Elena weren't staying. Even if the Agents were well-intentioned, his presence outside of custody would raise too many questions.

Vincent shot off towards the southwest. Not far outside of Rocket Town, just along the coast, was a small fishing village. It had but one inn and a small grocery store, and from his experience, no interest in asking questions.

Thus, when Vincent and Elena landed at the door and all but stumbled inside, the elderly woman behind the desk barely batted a lid. She glanced at Elena in her slightly oversized clothes, and Vincent in his bloody, scuffed leathers. It did not seem to deter her in the least. She pushed the guest book towards them.

"Got just one available, two beds."

"That's fine," Vincent said.

While Vincent signed them in, Elena pulled her wallet out and paid for the room with a stack of unmarked gil.

The clerk handed Vincent the keys with a gap-toothed smile. "Upstairs, on the right."

Elena snagged Vincent's elbow and leaned against him as they limped upstairs. "Sorry," she mumbled, halfway up the steps, when they had to stop for a breather. "I'm..."

"It's fine."

She gave him a tired look. "Sure."

Eventually, they made it to the room. Vincent let them in, and Elena flicked the light on. The room was clean and sparse because the two twin-sized beds took up most of the space.

"Seen worse, I guess." Elena snickered. "Those pillows look pretty flat... can I steal one from you?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks."

Elena limped over to take a pillow from the bed nearest to the door, then went to lay down on the other one, near the heavily curtained windows. Almost as soon as she got under the covers, she fell asleep.

Vincent shut and locked the door, then stepped into the small bathroom to wash up. He craved something salty and crunchy, some specific thing only Elena knew the name of because it wasn't really his craving at all. And still he wanted a long, long bath, but the effort was too great.

More than anything, he wanted sleep.

He left the bathroom, turning out the lights as he went. On his way over to the bed, Vincent shed his belts and gun holster, laying them on the floor just beneath the bed. Then he got into the small, uncomfortable bed, and laid there staring at the wall.

Sleep came reluctantly for him, with the worry and anger gnawing at his bones. When he slept, he dreamed.

He walked through the ruins of Midgar, his cloak streaming behind him in place of his shadow. His dogs kept pace with him, always just out of sight to his left and right. For some reason, the long abandoned buildings still had power. Lights twinkled in the shattered windows as though to suggest anyone might be living in the wreckage.

Yellow and white flowers jutted up in the cracks in the pavement, bobbing gently as he passed them. He looked up, half expecting to see blank white, but the sky was a gorgeous, vast expanse of blue, dotted with white, fluffy clouds. The semi-transparent skeleton of Omega framed the horizon. He was not on the other side with Her, then.

One of the dogs barked, a warning sound without aggression. Somehow, he knew it was Martyr, though their voices were much the same. Vincent looked ahead, and smiled crookedly because Cid waited for him further up the road.

 _Hey, starshine,_ Cid said, with all the smoldering warmth of a newly lit cigarette. _Wanna see somethin' cool?_

Vincent nodded, and together they climbed the half-toppled remains of a skyscraper to reach the unfinished freeway jutting out over the wastes. Cid took a moment to gaze out to the wastes, then he turned away and began to walk the twisty, crumbling road towards Midgar's center. The dogs ran ahead of him, prancing about in plain sight, yet no matter how Vincent tried, he could not seem to focus on them.

Cid stopped walking long before they reached the center of the ruins, where the Meteor had left a crater, flattening everything into the planet's side in an ugly scar. He pointed skywards.

The shape of Omega shimmered. It wasn't transparent at all, Vincent realized; its surfaces were like mirrors, reflecting the sky. He stepped forward, crossing fractured cracks in the pavement that resembled broken glass, and put his claws out.

And was not surprised when they bumped up against something solid.

The WEAPON's corpse had not shattered and become nearly incorporeal, it had merely hidden itself from sight. Vincent blinked at the realization, and stared blankly at where his reflection should have been. All he saw was Cid reflected back at him.

Or ahead of him.

Still with his hand raised skyward, grinning cockily.

The dogs began to howl, their voices drowned by thunder. In a blinding flash, lightning arced down. Vincent flinched away from Omega as it shattered into countless sparkling pieces, filling the air with glass that sliced through his clothes, his skin, his hair. He was left standing there in tatters, stunned and awed, unable to understand what he was looking at.

For Cid had gone, and in his place some great and terrible beast rose up, its eyes blazing brighter than the stars overhead.


	37. the poisoned youth

The rustle of curtains woke Vincent. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through fogged glass and between the metal bars on the outside of the window. He squinted against it until his eyes adjusted.

Elena stood at the window with her phone to her ear. Listening to the murmur of a voice on the other end of the line, and only occasionally going, "Mhm," or, "Yes, sir."

One of the Turks, then, or their so-called President.

Vincent sat up slowly; the bed springs creaked with every movement, giving him away. Elena turned her head towards him, offered a wan smile, and then looked back outside. The view was nice enough even with bars obscuring it, as the inn sat at the highest point of the town, looking down the hillside towards the docks and the ocean.

Elena concluded her call and stowed the phone in a pocket. "That was the President," she explained, still facing the window. "The Commissioner has lost control of the situation."

"What's happened?" Vincent slid out of bed to snag his belts and gun holster. "Where are my family?"

"So far as the WRO is concerned, still in protective custody. A rogue cell seems to have taken it upon themselves to act on a loophole that lets them supersede the Commissioner's orders in times of crisis."

"Elena."

She turned towards him at last and held her hands up, placating. "I'm getting there, Vincent, take a breath."

With a quiet huff, Vincent yanked at his belts a little too hard as he put them on. He glowered somewhere off to the left and downwards, at the floor.

"We've been given permission to handle the mission _our_ way." Elena paused. "With your approval, of course."

"Why mine?"

"You don't answer to the President anymore. You don't answer to the Commissioner, either. But you're involved, and you're not likely to sit by idly, right?"

"Hn." Vincent inclined his head. "What did you have in mind?"

Elena smiled. She rubbed at her left wrist, as if to imitate the habitual gesture of adjusting her gloves. "We're going to find this rogue element... and take care of them." Then she coughed, glancing away. "Or... you are, with backup."

"Backup?"

"Reno."

Vincent inhaled, and stared up at the ceiling, and counted to ten. Elena did not take it back. He exhaled long and slow and deep, and counted to twenty. She still didn't take it back.

"Damn it."

"I know, not your favorite to work with... Sorry."

"He's noisy."

"You'd think that would be your favorite kind of person."

"He's not blonde."

"Oh." Elena coughed again, more of a laugh into her fist. "Is that all it is?"

"It's a waste of time to number the ways he annoys me," Vincent said. "What of your wounds?"

"Rude'll take care of me, don't worry."

A little known fact about the taciturn Turk who let his fists do the talking: he possessed the best bedside manner out of the remaining Turks. Rude would no doubt look at the patch job Vincent did with a disapproving frown. He wouldn't say anything, though, since words were too much effort.

Vincent very much preferred working with Rude, if Elena wasn't available.

"Fine. They're coming here?"

"Yes." Elena walked over to sit on the edge of her bed. She picked at the hem of her borrowed sweater. "Oh, um..."

Vincent leaned against the wall, arms folded, instead of returning to his own uncomfortable bed. "What."

"That natural materia last night... It was red, like summoning materia, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Glancing towards the windows without focusing, Vincent could almost feel the tug of the materia on his being as if it were happening all over again. The sunlight seemed to become tinged in red the longer he stared blankly ahead. "She tried to call Ifrit."

"What exactly happened there, suddenly you changed and..."

"She summoned--" He hesitated, about to say, _me_ , but decided against it. "--Galian Beast."

Elena pulled her legs up onto the bed and scooted around to face Vincent. "But that's... not Ifrit."

"No."

"I don't understand, how could that happen?"

Vincent shrugged, a barely there lift of one shoulder. "Does ShinRa still have a materia registry?"

"Er, uh, yes. We have some records, but..." Elena made a wave-like motion with her hand. "Since Materia is no longer in production, and it's fallen out of public favor, it's a black market commodity now. Not illegal, but. Can't promise anything we have is accurate."

"But you do keep them."

Elena nodded. "...Yeah."

"It seems unlikely that summoning materia is common." Vincent flicked his finger against the plate on his prosthetic forearm. "Find out how many have Ifrit."

"Um, okay, sure. Any particular reason...?"

"Call it scientific enquiry."

"Sure. I'll get on it when Reno and Rude get here..." Elena walked her fingers along the rumpled sheets. "Um, in the meantime... would you mind, er." Her stomach grumbled, loud enough that their neighbors probably heard it. "Could you get food? I mean, I can pay--"

"Fine."

Vincent pushed away from the wall and left the room before she could trouble herself about money--or tell him what she wanted. He wandered down the hall and the stairs, and out into the afternoon sunlight.

The streets were mostly empty, with only a few shoppers drifting between stores. Vincent gave them a wide berth as he walked towards the nearest convenience store. He was only partly aware of his surroundings, as his thoughts kept meandering around the subject of Ifrit.

_"Crown of fire,"_ Serafina said. Something about the phrase felt familiar, but it eluded Vincent.

While his family passed down many stories about the guardians called forth by red materia, Vincent remembered nothing of them. He thought they were probably all exaggerated falsehoods, anyway. Idyllic fairy tales for grandparents to enthrall children with on rainy days.

As Vincent entered the convenience store and picked up a shopping basket, he wished Bugenhagen still lived. The old man seemed to know all about the Ancients and their crystalized knowledge. Maybe he passed some of that down to Nanaki. Vincent would have to ask when next they met up.

His other options were less likely to yield results. Lucrecia might have studied a broad variety of topics in her attempts to understand Chaos, but she probably wouldn't have specialized in summoning materia. And though he answered to the voice of the Planet, She told him little and less that made sense these days. Divine providence probably felt that the living needed to find their own way, or something like that.

Vincent wandered the aisles and came to a stop in front of the narrow selection of non-perishable goods, including jerky. He frowned over canned goods and cup ramen. Unless the inn had a courtesy kitchen available for use, food that required preparation would do no good.

Were he shopping for Cid, he'd get jerky and sickly sweet pastries and be done with it. Elena seemed the type to accept whatever she was given with a strained smile and limited complaints. Normally, this wouldn't bother Vincent, but she _was_ injured worse than she might have been because of his inaction.

He left the non-perishables to browse the questionable hot food case and the cold section. His basket gained a pair of premade sandwiches, a four pack of fruit cocktail cups, bottled water, and canned tea.

Then he went to investigate the snack aisles for chips. A black bag of sea salt sweet potato chips jumped out at him, the answer to the craving Elena passed on to him. He got two big bags of them.

Since he could think of nothing else Elena might want, Vincent went to pay for his purchases, then left the store to go deliver them. A familiar sleek black car sat out in front of the inn. Clearly Reno and Rude hadn't been stationed that far away if they were already there.

Vincent strode inside and headed straight for the stairs. The innkeeper glanced up from her newspaper but said nothing, sparing them both from the need to engage in small talk. The presence of Turks on the premises seemed to bother her no more than Vincent's appearance.

He discovered the reason for that when he returned to the room.

Inside, Reno sprawled on Vincent's bed, legs crossed at the ankles. Instead of the suit, he wore a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, bright yellow sneakers, a ratty band shirt, and a black hoodie with some other band's logo on the back. One arm lay folded beneath his head and he spun one of Vincent's belts around his other hand, whistling some tune or another.

Vincent glanced down at his arm, frowning. He couldn't remember ever forgetting any of his things like that. Then again, if he'd forgotten, how would he know?

"Oh, hey, Val," Reno chirped. He let the belt slip down his arm as he sat up. "Long time no see, yo."

"Hn."

Vincent carried the bag of groceries over to the table near the windows. He tried not to look directly at Reno, lest that invite further conversation. Instead, he took stock of the room.

The bathroom door was shut, light spilling out beneath the crack. Vincent heard the murmur of Elena's voice and the occasional one syllable response from Rude.

Other than the new arrivals, nothing changed in his absence.

Reno bounced up off the bed and bounded over to start poking through the bag of groceries without so much as a by-your-leave. If he noticed the way Vincent moved further away, he didn't comment.

"Oh, hey, I love this shit!"

Reno tore open the package of fruit cups and laid claim to one. He bit the plastic covering and tore it off with his teeth, then slurped the syrup inside down noisily.

"You? Eating potentially healthy things?" Vincent snorted.

"Yeah, yeah, slum rats only eat trash, right? Ha ha." Reno pulled a face, nose scrunched up over the lip of his stolen fruit cup. "This stuff's mostly sugar, yo, so don't you worry 'bout me dying of nutritional goodness or whatever."

Vincent gave Reno a sidelong look. Even before he took his long slumber, Midgar had been a huge, sprawling town with a too sharp class divide. The rich got richer and the poor lived in squalor. Back then, they hadn't called it a slum. The sentiment was the same, though, right up to the mistreatment of those already at the end of their rope.

Sometimes, he forgot Reno grew up in that. Usually willfully, since Reno tended to get on his nerves.

Wordless, Vincent held out his claws. Reno, whether intentional or not, seemed to misunderstand, and passed a fruit cup over.

Sighing, Vincent set it down on the edge of the table. He nudged it back towards the grocery bag with the barest tip of his claw. The syrup insided sloshed, fruit rocking back and forth. Just looking at it made his stomach sour.

"The belt, Reno."

"Oh. You coulda just said, man."

Fluttering his eyelashes, Vincent rolled his eyes. He twitched his claws at Reno, impatient with his shenanigans. The very second the belt was in his possession once more, Vincent checked it over for damage. He found nothing and strapped it back into its customary place.

"Sheesh, so touchy, yo, what's the matter?"

Vincent leveled a dead-eyed stare at Reno.

Reno coughed. "...Right, never mind, stupid question, right?"

Rather than attempt to engage further with Reno's stupidity, Vincent moved away to sit on the end of his bed. He plucked at the wrinkled, starchy sheets and frowned over a stray red hair on the pillow, vivid against white. Reno busied himself with finishing his fruit cup.

The bathroom door clicked open a moment later.

Rude stepped out first, expression as inscrutable as ever. Behind his sunglasses, it was impossible to tell where he looked, and he barely moved his head so as to give nothing away. He gave the slightest incline of his head by way of greeting to Vincent.

Like Reno, he was dressed down, though not by much. He wore dark slacks, a knitted beige turtleneck, brown loafers. The look didn't quite match up with his earrings and sunglasses, but no one would mistake him for a Turk.

Rude crossed the room to stand near the windows with his arms folded. Like a magnet inevitably drawn to his side, Reno drifted over.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom, then the squeak of the faucet being turned off. Elena came out a minute later, moving slow but looking much less run over. The dark circles under her eyes were all but gone and her skin was no longer papery thin.

The others must have brought her a change of clothes, as she'd changed into a better fitting sweater and flower-patterned leggings. 

She smiled wanly at Vincent. "I might have ruined Shera's sweater... It's in the tub, soaking."

"She won't mind," Vincent promised. Shera rarely minded anything, so long as her friends were safe and sound.

"Still, I'll feel better when this is over and I can pay her back."

Wordless, Vincent lifted his prosthetic and gestured towards the table. He didn't feel the need to give voice to the fact that they would _all_ feel better when things were settled back down again.

Elena moved over to poke through the bags. Her face lit up as she picked up one of the chip bags, tearing into it right away. "Oh, perfect, thank you!"

"Hey, yo, so what's the plan." Reno flicked his empty fruit cup into the trash bin a good six feet away. "Me and Val off to kick ass and save the day, right, yeah, while you two sit and look pretty?"

Crunching on her chips, Elena lifted one shoulder. She and Reno both turned towards Rude. Vincent never asked before but now he wondered if Rude were the senior-most operative among the three and thus the one who would have to lead missions when Tseng was absent. A wonder anything got done, if so.

"...Yeah," Rude said. And that was all.

Reno nodded, satisfied. "'Kay, let's go."

"Do none of you have the faintest clue where we are going?" Vincent asked.

"Can't you just, like, do your weird supernatural thing for tracking Highwind down, like always?"

Vincent closed his eyes and rolled them. Telling the Turks that he _could_ technically do such a thing as the Planet's last WEAPON didn't strike him as a wise decision. Besides, it wasn't a reliable ability, given that he had no idea where to begin. Finding one soul in the confusing miasma of the living _and_ the dead was far worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Geez, Reno, you can't just _ask_ him stuff like that." Elena jabbed a chip in Reno's direction. "Wouldn't you be self-conscious about it?"

Grinning, Reno shook his head. "Nah. Superpowers'd be cool. Right, Rude?"

Rude said nothing.

"You're all no fun."

Vincent sighed. "No, I do not possess the ability to track Cid down. He's a man of habit, that's all. Now what are we going to do with his habits interrupted?"

"It's the WRO, man, it's not like they can go that far off road and still look legitimate. They're people of habit, too, yo." Reno shrugged and flapped his hand dismissively in the air in front of his face. "We'll probably just go back to town and ask some questions, yo, and then follow up on leads and all that good shit."

"And while we waste time doing so, put my family at further risk."

"It's fine, really, dude, it's not like--"

"Phone." Rude did not have a loud or very deep voice but he nevertheless cut through Reno's rising ire so suddenly that Reno's breath hitched.

"Oh, right." Elena lowered her bag of chips, resting it against her thigh. "It can be assumed everyone's phones were confiscated, but..." She gave the bag a little shake, peering in. "Vincent called Shera."

All three Turks looked to Vincent.

He nodded slightly. "I did. She seemed furtive."

"Well... if you can call her again and keep her on the line long enough, we can triangulate her position."

Like magic, Rude produced a keyring out of nowhere. He held it towards Reno without looking. "Trunk."

"Right on, yo!" Reno snatched the keys and darted out of the room.

The door slammed behind him and Vincent could faintly hear his thudding footfalls vanishing down the hall. He wondered if the innkeeper would be blase about the ruckus or if she would finally reach the end of her tolerance and have some stern words for Reno. The mental image of him getting cowed by the old woman warmed Vincent.

While Reno played fetch, Elena got up to help herself to one of the sandwiches. She sat down at the table. After a moment or two, Rude moved to sit across from her. He kept his arms folded, as though defensive of the possibility that he might be offered anything.

Nobody felt the need to break the silence. Vincent relaxed into it.

His thoughts tumbled over one another, circling around his concern for his family. He hoped Cid wasn't under any undue stress. The last thing they needed was yet another uncontrolled transformation, especially if it put Shera and Lucrecia at risk.

Even thinking like that felt like a little betrayal, as though he had no faith in Cid.

Vincent folded his arms and tucked his chin. He let his thoughts fall away as if through a sieve, staring blankly towards Elena and Rude. She picked apart her sandwich, eating each piece of it separately. Every other bite, she had a chip or a drink of her canned tea. Rude supervised, occasionally checking the window as if he expected enemies at any moment.

It was a surreal scene that took Vincent back to his days as a Turk. He wished he could leave and forget all about it, but he knew he'd need their help.

Some time later, Reno came bounding back into the room. The door swung wide and smacked off the wall with a bang that made Elena jump and drop her chips everywhere.

"Geez, Elena, why so jumpy?" Reno asked.

He stepped further into the room and kicked at the door without looking back. It slammed shut hard enough to rattle the vague paintings of an ocean sunset on the wall. One of them went slightly crooked.

"Um."

"Uh-huh. Well, I got the thing!" He held up a thick black briefcase, looking quite pleased with himself. Then he paused, as if only just now realizing that everyone was staring. "...What?"

Rude pushed his glasses down slightly with his forefinger, peering over the top of the frames at the new hole in the wall. "You're paying."

Spinning on his heel, Reno did a double take at the wall. "Holy shit, what the hell happened there!?"

This, for some reason, made Elena crack up into hiccupping laughter. She doubled over and clutched at her chest, wincing but unable to stop laughing. Sighing, Rude pushed his glasses up. He rose from his seat and rounded the table to gingerly fuss at Elena without touching her too much.

"Seriously, what happened!?" Reno repeated, flailing one arm. He gave the wall a hard kick, which only served to add another dent in it. "Did they make this shit hole outta paper mache or something? Geez!"

Vincent put his face in his hand. It was going to be a long, long mission.


	38. remember me for centuries

Once Elena got herself under control again, she retreated to the bathroom. She murmured apologies as she went and rubbed absently at her chest.

Stiffly, Rude returned to his seat. Reno thunked the briefcase down in front of Rude and laid claim to Elena's chair and her lunch. He seemed to have no reservations whatsoever about putting bread, meat, cheese, and vegetables back together to stuff them into his mouth, bite marks or no.

Faintly disgusted, Vincent drifted over to stand near Rude's shoulder. He wrinkled his nose at the loud chomping noises. Surely they were exaggerated for effect--no one could possibly derive _that_ much pleasure from a convenience store sandwich.

Then again, it _was_ Reno.

Rude unlocked the briefcase and popped it open with two loud clicks. Inside, silver machinery with many buttons, dials, neatly coiled wires, and a pair of headphones glittered. With quick, efficient motions, Rude set up what appeared to be a small antenna in the window sill and plugged the machine into the nearby outlet. He donned the headphones and spent some time fiddling with the various buttons and dials.

It was a complete mystery to Vincent, as was most technology.

"You got your phone, Val?" Reno mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. A mangled piece of meat and cheese dropped from his mouth. He snatched it up and stuffed it back in.

"Probably."

Vincent patted down his pockets, rummaging through the familiar detritus until his fingers closed on the phone. He pulled it out, tilting it to wake it. The battery flashed a red warning.

Reno leaned upwards and over to peer at the scuffed screen. "Geez, man, you ever charge it?" He shoved greasy mayonnaise stained fingers into his own pocket and pulled out a long, tangled cord, which he dangled in Vincent's direction. "Here, yo, can't have it dyin' on us."

Sighing, Vincent plucked the cord between forefinger and thumb. He dutifully went over to plug his phone into the outlet and set the thing next to Rude. The battery turned green, playing a little animation of filling up.

As the percentage began to climb, Vincent stepped back to face the window. Rude kept on making adjustments or whatever he was doing with the machine. Reno crunched on chips.

"Hey, yo, you know this lady's number?"

Vincent cast a sidelong look at Reno. "Why wouldn't I."

"Iunno, man, you're not exactly known for socializin' and whatever."

"She's family."

"Uh-huh. How's that work, anyhow, you and Highwind and, what, your exes? Ain't that a little weird?"

"Reno," Rude said.

"What? I'm just making small talk!"

With a faint shake of his head, Rude tipped the headphones back and let them rest around his neck. "Ready when the battery is."

Elena came back out of the bathroom, moving slowly. She looked pale and tired again. As all three men turned towards her, she smiled weakly and waved her hands. But she did not try to tell them she was okay; she wandered over to her bed to lay down with her back to them.

Reno and Rude exchanged a glance--or they seemed to, since their faces turned towards one another.

For once, Reno had nothing glib to say. He grabbed a canned tea, popped the tab, and noisily guzzled some down.

The battery took another couple of minutes to reach the halfway point. Rude apparently decided that was enough charge, as he unplugged it and held it up towards Vincent without looking.

Vincent took it and fumbled through unlocking it. He tapped through to his contacts list, seeking out Shera's number. While he _did_ know it, speed dial would spare him the time and annoyance of struggling through the touchscreen with Reno looking on, biting at the inside of his cheek to keep snide comments in check.

"Do I call now?" Vincent asked.

Rude held up one of the cords attached to his machinery. The end of it looked identical to a power cable. Vincent plugged it in and a small blank window popped up on his phone. A loading bar flicked by, then the window vanished again.

"One moment." Rude pulled the headphones back on. "Call someone else."

"Who?"

Reno propped his elbows on the table. "You got my number, Val?"

"No."

"Aw, why not! I've given it to you before."

"I don't want you calling me."

"Harsh, yo. We're Turks, partners in--"

"No."

Reno made a face. "Whatever, yo, give it here."

Vincent's fingers tightened around his phone. The protective case creaked in his grip, a reminder that he was likely overdue for a replacement.

"C'mon, I'm not gonna do anything weird." Reno made a sharp, impatient gesture with one hand. "We needa run a test and you're not likely to have anyone you can just call up, right?"

"I have friends," Vincent said, slow and stiff.

"Uh-huh, but do you even know _their_ numbers?"

Staring a hole into Reno's left ear, Vincent lifted the phone and swiped down to one of his other friend's numbers. He picked at random and tapped the dial button. The line rang twice before it was picked up.

Barret's voice came from the other end: "Yo, Wallace here, who's callin'?"

"Barret."

"Oh, Valentine, what's up? How's Cid?"

"There have been... complications."

"Damn." Barret made a sucking noise through his teeth. "Ya need us to come raise hell?"

"No. We may need to depart sooner than expected."

"Sure." A pause. "Yanno we always got room, but-- guess there'd be problems with the whole..."

"Yes."

"Just keep us updated. We'll figure somethin' out."

"Will do."

Vincent hung up. He inclined his head towards Rude, who made an OK sign with his left hand.

"Dang, surprised you keep up with anyone." Reno tapped at the side of his nose. "Way the ol' bird at the bar harps on, I figured you just ignored everyone that wasn't giving you dick."

Rude lifted his head with a sharp inhale. " _Reno_."

Vincent leveled a flinty stare at Reno. "Keep it up, and you may find a regrettable lack of support at a crucial moment on this upcoming mission, and none to mourn your failures after."

"Hey, man, what's your fucking problem!" Reno jumped up from his seat, scraping it across the floor. He slapped his hands down on the table hard enough to make everything on it rattle. "We're helping outta the goodness of our hearts, here, 'cuz you're one of us, but you always actin' like--"

A pillow smacked into the back of Reno's head. Elena sat up, glaring. "Vincent doesn't owe us anything! If anything, we owe _him_ , for how we, for how the company-- He wouldn't _be_ like he is if we hadn't failed him. If we had followed up, hadn't... let Hojo parade around! So you just shut your mouth, Reno, and stop _antagonizing_ him!"

Opening and closing his mouth, Reno turned towards her and rubbed at the back of his head. Rude cleared his throat softly and reached towards his neck to adjust the tie that wasn't there.

Vincent looked at each of the remaining Turks in turn. He inhaled, then exhaled.

He never asked why they persisted in trying to pull him back into the fold. In his days, _"Once a Turk, always a Turk,"_ had been said with the grim certainty that the job would get them killed. The new generation of Turks seemed to consider it a battle cry and an uplifting motto in one. To them, it meant _family_ , and that they could never leave anyone behind.

"What happened," Vincent made himself say, "cannot be the responsibility of those not even born yet."

Three faces turned towards him. Elena looked so mournful, brows scrunched and mouth drawn down. She twisted her fingers together and looked away first. Reno just looked annoyed and scoffed as he jerked his face away to glare at a wall.

And Rude, ever so unreadable, merely turned back to his machine. "Make the call."

Vincent lowered his lashes as he looked down at the phone. The image of the sticky note tacked onto Shera's fridge came to mind. _Call,_ it said, and he had, not knowing what to expect.

Once again, he called and didn't know what he would discover on the other end of the line. He held his breath as he listened to the ringing. It kept going and going, an incessant jangle near his ear that made him want to gnash his teeth as it echoed inside his skull.

As the ringing neared its end, Vincent resigned himself to the possibility that Shera's phone had been discovered and taken away. Or worse.

A click. The ringing cut off and Vincent heard breathing.

"Shhh," the person on the other end of the line said. In the background, male voices overlapped, too distant for Vincent to make out what they said.

Then, a soft clatter, and sound became somewhat muffled. Vincent strained to hear, bringing the speaker up against his ear. Beyond the faint crackle of the phone lines, he made out Shera's voice, raised in distress.

"Where are you taking him!?"

Shera never yelled, never showed genuine distress, not even up there in space, with Cid trapped under a molten piece of metal as they hurtled towards the sun. Whatever was happening, it set Vincent's pulse to racing with the need to _go_ , to be there, to put a stop to it.

He could make two guesses as to who was being taken, but where and for what purpose... Vincent bit his tongue, gripping the phone tightly.

More yelling, the clang of metal against metal, and rattling. Vincent pulled the phone slightly away from his ear with one eye closed and teeth grit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rude pull the headphones partly off.

Still the one-sided phone call continued. Vincent could do nothing except listen as the voices drifted further away. He heard the slam of a door and then silence for a long, long time.

"What's goin' on, yo?" Reno asked, his voice too sudden and loud.

Rude jolted upright, shoulders tense. "Hush."

Instinctively, Vincent covered the mouthpiece on his phone with his thumb. There was no way to know who, if anyone, could hear anything they said. Better to make no sound until he had definite proof that it was Shera or Lucrecia on the line.

Reno shook his head and muttered, "Jeez, sorry."

The silence lasted long enough that Rude finished whatever he needed to do with his machine. He gave a thumbs up and mouthed, _Done_.

Vincent looked between the phone and the trio of Turks watching him. The sooner they left, the sooner he could see his family to safety. But... he needed, more than anything else, to hear a familiar voice reassuring him that all was not as dire as it sounded. He needed to know that he was not going to collect bodies, that there was still a chance at rescue.

Bowing his head, Vincent continued to listen. His hair fell around his face. Behind the safety of that dark curtain, he let his mouth slant down in an unhappy line, brows furrowed deeply.

Footsteps and the slow growing sound of hitching sobs broke the silence. A rattle and click, possibly of a door.

An unknown voice said, "Stay here."

The door slammed, leaving two women sniffling, their footsteps coming closer to the phone. Vincent heard the creak of the mattress overhead.

"They can't keep him, can they?" Lucrecia's voice, cracked and nervous, either in the middle of tears or on the verge of it. "I mean, they're, they're supposed to be... on our side? Upholding the law, and everything, this isn't--"

"I don't think they are, dearheart..." Shera sounded so impossibly tired, her voice thick with tears. "Not anymore."

"Oh, oh no." A pause, and then Lucrecia blurted out, "Oh! You had, um, a thing. The thing. It's there, underneath, I wasn't sure if it would help."

"What?" A clatter and scrape, more creaking of the mattress, and then Shera's voice was much closer, suggesting she had the phone at last. "Hello?"

Vincent moved his thumb away from the speaker. "Shera."

"Oh, you heard that... Is everything okay with you?"

"Yes. I'll be there shortly."

"Please hurry." Shera sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled it. "I don't... They discovered our ruse and took Tseng a couple hours ago, and now... they've taken the Captain, too. I don't know what's going to happen to them."

"Call if something else happens."

"I will," she promised. "Be careful."

"Yes."

Wearily, Vincent hung up, unplugged his phone from Rude's machine, and tucked it into his pocket. He smoothed his hand down his front, as if to sweep away the torrent of emotion gnawing at his ribs. Then he lifted his head, taking in each of the Turks.

Elena clutched a pillow to her chest, knees drawn up. She watched Vincent worriedly. Rude kept his head down, face pointedly turned to his machine as he fiddled with it and made it print out some long strip of paper covered in numbers.

Vincent's gaze lingered on Reno last. Blue-green eyes as stormy as the sea met his, fierce and annoyed. Reno jutted his chin to stare down his nose.

"Got it," Rude said. He held up the strip of paper between forefinger and middle finger. "Not far."

"Good, let's go!" Reno snatched the paper and bounced to his feet. "Unless you wanna dawdle around some more. Could find out if you turn into a bat at night, yo, 'cuz we got plenty of time for _that_."

With a roll of his eyes, Vincent strode from the hotel room. He did not slow when Elena called after him, "Good luck!"

Nor when Reno raced after him, hollering, "Geez, slow down!"

The innkeeper leveled them both with a sour look as they crossed the lobby. Reno's thunderous footsteps bounced off the walls, making it sound as if a whole herd of rambunctious fools ran about. If she had things to say about it, neither man stuck around long enough to hear it.

Afternoon sunshine greeted them outside. Vincent squinted his eyes against it as he walked over to stand by the car. Reno rounded the other side to unlock it and hop into the driver's seat.

Nostalgia hit Vincent like a wave as he got into the car. In thirty years, the model of cars used by the Turks had changed, but the general style and aesthetic had not. It was still a long, dark town car with plush leather seats, tinted windows, and all the latest features.

"Seat belts on, yo, safety first and all that shit."

Reno clicked his own seat belt in place and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He did not put the key in the ignition until Vincent complied.

Then he started the car up and peeled out into the road a little recklessly. Vincent clutched at his seat, one-handed to avoid ripping it up with his claws. He bit back anything he might say about Reno's driving, glad enough to be moving at a good clip. It would've been faster to fly but far more taxing.

They drove out from the village and headed back towards Rocket Town. Out on the road, Reno sped up. The engine barely made a sound but the landscape zoomed by. In the far distance, Mt. Nibel loomed close, filling the horizon with its spiked peaks.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Vincent asked, when Rocket Town came into view.

"Yeah, uhhh... sec."

Reno kept one hand on the steering wheel as he patted at himself in a comical display of looking for the piece of paper. He took his eyes off the road to do it.

Vincent reached out to lay his claws against the steering wheel, steadying it and gently guiding them back into the correct lane. The rare few passersby honked at them in alarm. Reno flipped them off, the little bit of paper flapping in his fist.

"Here, yo, it's uhhh... Damn, latitude and longitude." Reno sighed. "Hey, Val, yanno how to use your phone's map?"

"Doubtful." Vincent wrenched the wheel to the left, saving them from swerving off into the ditch. "Are you going to drive, or should I let us meet our maker."

"Listen, man, I can't do everything here!"

"Then stop and let me drive."

"You can drive?"

"I _was_ a Turk, as you seem so fond of reminding me."

"Whatever, man."

Reno took the wheel and guided them off the road, slowing to a stop. He killed the engine, unbuckled, and threw the driver's side door open.

The next passerby to see them slowed. It was a big semi truck hauling oil. A middle aged woman with her hair up in a bun stuck her arm and face out the window. "Hey, y'all alright there?"

"Yep, all good!" Reno chirped, beaming up at her. "Just, uh, you know, realized I'm too tired to keep driving."

The woman nodded in understanding. "Yep, I know how it is. Y'all be safe now!"

"Thanks, you too!"

After she'd gone, Vincent eyed Reno dubiously. "That was shockingly polite."

"Hey, fuck you, I can be polite if I wanna be!"

"Hmm."

"You gonna switch with me or not?"

With a shrug, Vincent slid out of the car. They made the switch and he spent some time adjusting the seat and steering wheel. He was much taller than Reno and if he left the seat alone, he'd bang his knees against the wheel.

While Vincent made adjustments, Reno fiddled with his phone, glancing between the screen and the string of numbers Rude gave him. He barely twitched when the car started up and they pulled back out onto the highway.

Without knowing where they were going, Vincent drove only a little above the speed limit. He didn't favor the idea of blowing into Rocket Town at 80 miles per hour nor did he want to waste precious time speeding right past their intended destination.

"Okay, jeez, these guys..." Reno wagged his phone in the air, the top half of it flopping. For some reason, he insisted on continuing to use an old flip phone, even though all the other Turks seemed to have upgraded already. "There's a couple of WRO bases near Rocket Town, right? Yeah, so, they went for the one up in the mountains."

"Of course they did."

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

Vincent raised his gaze to take in the horizon, broken up by the jagged spikes of the mountains. He thought of the eerie glow in Serafina's eyes down in the dark tunnels, the chitter and clatter and piercing shrieks of the thing inhabiting her. He could almost smell Elena's blood again, mingled with the reek of mako and something that made the hair on the backs of his arms stand on end.

"The WRO is compromised, correct?"

"Well, yeah, man." Reno scoffed. "Are you going senile something?"

"No. Do you want me to treat you like an equal, or shall I assume you're a child and save my breath?"

Reno snapped his mouth shut, teeth clicking. Then he shook his head hard. "Nope, I'm good, go right ahead."

"Hn." Vincent spread his fingers against the steering wheel, flexing the muscles in his living hand and testing the circuits of his prosthetic. The claws glinted in the light. "Potentially compromised by the remnants of the Luz Vuelve. Elena and I encountered Serafina."

"Tch. She busted out of the slammer. Elena said she was all fucked up, like a SOLDIER gone bad."

"Jenova."

Reno sucked in a breath, expression becoming pinched. "Shit."

"Shit indeed," Vincent agreed, voice soft. "She's drawn to Nibelheim."

"No wonder they picked that dippy little base, then, yeah? Don't really make any sense otherwise, there's better defended ones closer..."

"Correct."

"Well, lucky us, I guess, bustin' into the place oughta be easy peasy."

Vincent gave Reno a sidelong look. "Don't get complacent."

"Me? Naw, never." Grinning, Reno kicked his feet up onto the dash and folded his hands over his belly. "Don't you worry none, yo, we're gonna blow that popsicle stand and bust your ashtray-mouthed asshole and your exes on out."

"...Shera never dated either of us."

"What, really? I always thought she and Captain Ashtray were a thing, you know, back before Meteor and all that. Shows what good Turk intelligence is once the budget for surveillance gets slashed."

With a faint shake of his head, Vincent turned the car onto the winding road that would take them up into the mountains. Reno kept up his pointless, annoying chatter the whole drive up. Vincent tuned most of it out, gaze fixed straight ahead.

As they ventured up into the mountains, he had to slow the car to what felt like a crawl. The road twisted and turned and wound its way between the peaks, a path too treacherous to speed along. It was torturous. Vincent's grip on the steering wheel tightened and he counted the miles between him and their destination.

Fervently, he thought of all the ways he would make his enemies pay.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking a hiatus from uploads and fic writing until October. Thank you for your patience and understanding.


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